


Half Sick of Shadows

by starcrossed_writing



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, hahahahhahha i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 113,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossed_writing/pseuds/starcrossed_writing
Summary: Juliette Chevalier and her team have been sitting on a huge secret. A secret they never thought would come out. But when circumstances permit for their identities to be revealed, they find themselves hidden in amongst Easy Company, a company of American paratroopers about to make their first jump into combat.But whilst the Americans are making their debut behind enemy lines, Juliette has been operating undercover for far too long. Her time, it seems, has very much run out; her story has an ending and she knows very well what it is. Remembering has always been painful, but retelling her story in such vivid detail is inevitably much, much worse.[Sequel to 'Shadows of the World'](Based on the TV show character portrayals. All original characters and related plot lines are mine. Find it also on Wattpad and Tumblr.)
Relationships: Eugene Roe x Original Female Character, Eugene Roe/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 133
Kudos: 49





	1. Shadows of the World

**Author's Note:**

> "Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter; only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you - that would be the real betrayal."  
> \- George Orwell, 1984

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And moving through a mirror clear  
> That hangs before her all the year,  
> Shadows of the world appear.  
> There she sees the highway near   
> Winding down to Camelot:"  
> \- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott

A hand slams down on the wooden desk. I flinch back instinctively. The paper is torn out from under my hands without remorse.

I don't dare look up. I keep my eyes set firmly on my hands, which lay strewn across the table, shaking. I only move my eyes away when I have to close them. The hauptsturmführer has spat at me. Though it isn't the first time, I still shiver in disgust as his saliva slithers down my face.

The beast of a man slams the paper back down onto the desk and grabs ahold of the back of my chair, spinning me to face him. He demands in no uncertain terms that I open my eyes. When I do, he is leaning in close.

"What you have written," he snarls at me, "tells us nothing. You have spent three weeks writing _nothing_." Just like some sort of rabid dog, saliva comes leaking out of the corners of his mouth. He looks utterly savage. I don't dare say anything in reply. "It is a privilege to be writing out your confession. An act of mercy. You spit in our faces every time you waste our time with your useless civilian memories. And so, I spit in yours." He spits at me again. For emphasis, perhaps. Or for the drama of it. Either way, he has proven this point to me too many times to warrant doing it as proof. I already know there is nothing that is beyond him. There is no line he will not cross.

"Writing out everything is the only way I can remember it all," I insist, shrivelling under his fierce gaze. There is nothing in the world I fear more than Hauptsturmführer Becker, and he knows it.

He yanks me up by the hair at the nape of my neck until he's holding me up to his eye level. I feel his breath fan my face. I want to scream.

"Every piece of paper you fill without any useful information is another minute you will spend holding the phenol in your mouth. How long do you think you can last without swallowing?"

Phenol. Carbolic acid. The liquid they use in lethal injections.

I want to cry. I want to cry. I want to cry.

He pulls me impossibly closer to his snarling face. "Do you understand, Miss Chevalier?"

"Yes." It emerges as a whimper. The fight has long since gone out of me.

The hauptsturmführer drops me. I remain sprawled out on the floor until the two guards at the walls are ordered to sit me back in my chair. When they do, they let my head slam into the table. Everything is blurry when I lift it back up.

"You and I," begins the hauptsturmführer, walking casually towards the door, "have a meeting in half an hour. I will be checking your progress." He turns back to me and smiles. It sends a chill down my spine. "Tell us your secrets, or burn. The choice is yours."

I want to die. I want to die. I want

"Write," one of the guards demands, but I can no longer remember where I left off. My mind seems to want to believe it was something about Gene. _Gene._ Gene, who I never deserved anyway, but wanted with all my heart. God fucking damn it. God damn it. I was so stupid. I have never hated myself as much as I do right now, thinking about Gene. I wasted so much time. I hope he thinks I'm dead.

Oh, God, Thomas. Why am I not dead?

I might as well be, I suppose. I will be soon. I am rapidly running out of time, and though I am not afraid to die, I am afraid to find out how they will kill me. I am so, so afraid.

"Write!" that same guard screeches at me. He presses the lit end of his cigarette into my shoulder. I flinch every time, without fail, which only makes him actively search for excuses to do it again. And again. And again. But it works. I carry on writing. It's jibberish, but I will do anything to stop him from burning me again. I can still feel my skin hissing fiercely.

When the hauptsturmführer returns he will read what I've written, and he will not be pleased, but I don't have any energy left in me to carry on remembering. I like remembering, now - I used to hate it, because it was painful, but memories are nice things to have now. But nice memories don't belong in the pause right before an interrogation. Eugene Roe has no place in something so terrible. Sometimes I even fool myself into believing that the anticipation is worse than the actual thing itself. Needless to say, it never is, and that only makes the waiting for it worse each time.

The door crashes open as I am writing out the alphabet for the eight consecutive time in a different font. I all but collapse onto the wooden desk, draping myself over it in a mixture of panic and exhaustion. When he sees what I've written I will die. I feel sure of it. But perhaps he is not so merciful.

I don't hear what Hauptsturmführer Becker says to the two guards who always watch me. I am sobbing too loudly. The man I fear most shoots me a look of disdain, of disgust, for I am a pathetic creature and apparently seek to remind him of this every time I am in his presence. When he picks up my papers he scowls. He slams them down onto the table. He hauls me up himself.

"I thought we were past playing the martyr, Miss Chevalier," he growls at me, yanking me out of the door by my hair.

"What are you going to do?" I hear myself beg. I don't remember consciously making the decision to say that, but I am in a state of hysteria. Tears are streaming, my eyes are screwed shut, and my feet thrash at the floor in an attempt to slow him down. "What are you going to do to me?! Tell me what you're going to do and I'll go quietly. I have to know! Please!"

When I land on the familiar stone floor of the interrogation room my body collapses under me. I barely have the energy to weep and screech as I do, but I do it anyway. "Please tell me! Please tell me!"

I hear liquid pouring and remember what he said. A minute for every piece of paper I wasted. I can't remember for the life of me how many that is. Memories return too late. Every time. I would have suffered the burning to not have to face this. Why am I always wishing for things I can't have?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I will just swallow it. It'll hurt, but it'll be over. I'll swallow it. I'll swallow it. 

"Do not even think about swallowing it," Hauptsturmführer Becker sneers, as though reading my thoughts. "It has been diluted. If you swallow it, it will not kill you. But it will burn. It will hurt. It will disfigure you. It is in your best interests not to swallow it."

"Why do you have no _mercy_?" I beg, slamming my fists into the concrete repeatedly. They won't even let me die. "You're a coward! You're a sadist! You're a goddamn fucking ruthless _bastard! Show some compassion!"_

The hauptsturmführer doesn't turn, only continues to pour. "Do not think about spitting it out, either. I will pour it down your throat myself and make sure it burns you from the inside out."

I fight against the arms that lift me into the chair with all of my might. It's not enough. I try desperately to keep my mouth closed, try to lock my jaw and grind my teeth. It's not enough. When he pours the acid in my mouth I have to press my tongue up against the back of my throat to prevent it from slipping down.

I will never forget this taste. I will never forget the burning in my eyes. I will never forget the gleeful look on his face. I will never forget this panic.

Oh God oh God oh God. I thought I had such problems. Afraid of growing old? I would give anything to grow old. Anything. Anything. Anything.

I hold the acid in my mouth for thirteen minutes.

Why did I use so much paper?


	2. To Be Somebody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am tired of myself tonight. I should like to be somebody else." - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Nixon led the team of spies in and all Juliette could hear was a collective gasp. The paratroopers of Easy Company who had known them for months under different names and with different occupations were now being told that these four incredibly normal people had been spies the entire time.

As the four of them came to stand in front of the mass of paratroopers, who seemed a lot more in number now that she was seeing them altogether, Juliette sought out Eugene Roe in amongst the crowd. The one person who had already known. When their eyes finally met he offered her a small smile, though his incredulity was written plainly on his face. This made her want to laugh, so she looked away, but he had definitely succeeded in easing her nerves, even if he hadn't been trying.

Juliette avoided eye contact with the other Americans she was better acquainted with at all costs, too anxious that when she looked into their eyes she'd find disgust or resentment. Instead, she looked to Nixon as he introduced them.

"This is the team of spies you'll be jumping with, they'll be scattered among the planes. From right to left - that is, _your_ right to left - we have Thomas, Juliette, William, and Martin. You're not allowed to know their last names so don't ask." He shot a stern look out into the crowd and listened to them all echo back a 'Yes, sir,' before continuing. "I'll pass you over to their CO." Then he nodded to Thomas and moved aside.

Juliette shot Tom a reassuring smile right before he stepped forwards. He made his way to the centre of the space that had been cleared for whoever was lecturing. He cleared his throat before beginning to speak, projecting his voice and commanding attention, though with the fact that Tom had been friends with basically every single soldier present they were hardly willing to pay attention to anything else.

"The nature of our work is top secret," he began, scanning the crowd quickly to make sure everyone was listening to him, "so there are some guidelines you need to follow. Number one: do not ask us our surnames, code names, or any other aliases we may go by or have gone by in the past. It's not necessary for you to know, so you won't. Number two: do not, I repeat do _not_ , ask us about our work, that includes what we're doing in Normandy and any jobs we've done in the past. That information is so far above your security clearance you could be shot for even asking for it. So don't.

"Number three: don't ask us about our training. Plain and simple. We're not allowed to tell you. And finally, and perhaps most importantly," he paused, to let them know the gravitas of this final one, "number four: do not tell anyone you have come into contact with Allied spies. Don't include it in your letters home, don't tell your family in person if you get to visit home, and don't tell anyone else you feel like blabbing to. You'll be executed for it."

Tom paused, letting the room take in everything he'd said. Once he was certain they had, he continued, "Breaking any of these rules will be seen as undermining the war effort, and will be recognised as treason. There will be no court martial, no trial, and no final letters home. Is that understood?"

The crowd all replied, "Yes, sir," in their standard monotone, and Jules had to suppress a smile. She had known it was common practise, but calling her commanding officers 'sir' was such a strange concept it was also absurd to hear anyone else do it; Thomas wasn't a 'sir', he was just 'Tom', just like Alexis had just been 'Alex'. Distantly, she wondered whether the Americans would have to start calling her 'ma'am'. The thought of it made her want to laugh.

"Good," Tom said with a nod, skimming his eyes over the crowd once more before declaring, "That's all."

Nixon nodded to them and they left through the same entrance they'd come in through. As soon as the door had shut behind them they took one look at each other and burst out into giggles, hands pressed firmly to their mouths to keep the noise down. It was all just too absurd.

They tried desperately to calm themselves down. When they heard Lieutenant Meehan dismiss the enlisted men they all pressed their ears against the door, Martin at the top, and then Tom, then Will, and with Jules crouched at the bottom. They were desperate to get some impression of what the Americans' first reactions would be, and in order to exit the tent the would have to walk past this door.

"What the fuck," seemed to be the most commonly uttered words, or various variations of it.

The unmistakable voice of Bill Guarnere walked past exclaiming, "That was fucking _Henry_?!" which made Jules giggle; Henry had been Thomas' fake name back when they'd been undercover in Aldbourne.

And then Floyd Talbert walked past. Jules had to press her lips into a firm line to keep from laughing. "Ah fuck!" they heard him exclaim to someone. "I used my 'I need someone to write to' line on her. That's so fucking embarrassing."

A laugh so badly wanted to explode out of her, but she'd break their cover if it did.

There were various other comical exclamations as the paratroopers filed out of the room, and they were so unintentionally hilarious that by the end of it the group had had to resign themselves to stopping listening.

Eventually, Nixon came back into the room, and he was wearing that cheeky grin of his.

"Would they really be shot if they asked you questions about your work?" he wondered with a quirk of his thick eyebrows. He was looking mainly to Thomas, as he had been the one who'd said it.

Thomas laughed, and Martin answered for him, "Out of pure irritation, perhaps."

"They really aren't allowed to know," Tom amended, though Nixon seemed to find it all terribly amusing.

The intelligence officer took another sip from his flask as he looked between the four of them. After a small while, he nodded to himself, taking another sip before he smiled. "You know what? I think you four are gonna fit in just fine."

Juliette hoped he would be proven right. She smiled to herself as she leaned back in her chair, the majority of her nerves having disappeared now that the news was broken.

They would still have to talk to them in person, however, and that was a lingering, frightening thought that she couldn't help but mull over. None of the yanks had sounded particularly angry, but they had definitely all been shocked. She wondered whether they'd be willing to accept them for a second time, and mainly, whether they'd be able to trust them again after being told they'd been lied to spectacularly.

She shared a look with the others, who all seemed to be in varying states of internal conflict, likely about the exact same thing that was plaguing her. Nixon tore their attention away from each other after watching silently from the corner, a small smirk on his lips.

"Well," he began with a raise of his eyebrows,  
"do you wanna go and meet the men? As yourselves this time, I mean."

Jules chuckled quietly to herself and got to her feet just as the others all did. They would have to do it eventually, she supposed, so why not now?

They filed out of the tent in the same order they had entered the lecture theatre in, with Tom at the front and Martin at the back, and headed straight for the men's barracks.


	3. Some Kind of Numbness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am happy on the outside, but inside something gnaws at me; some presentiment, anxiety, dreams — or sleeplessness, — melancholy, indifference, — desire for life, and the next instant, desire for death: some kind of sweet peace, some kind of numbness, absent-mindedness; and sometimes definite memories worry me. My mind is sour, bitter, salt; some hideous jumble of feelings shakes me! I am stupider than ever." - Frédéric Chopin, from a letter

"So that's why you were gone for six fuckin' months?!" Bill Guarnere exclaimed the moment the four of them had made their presence known in the barracks. What seemed to be all of the Americans were watching them closely and Juliette suddenly felt like her younger self on her first day at school in England, armed only with a thick French accent and literally no friends.

She shrunk back subconsciously, leaving Martin at the front with Thomas and instead coming to linger in the back with Will. She would let them handle it.

"Actually, it was three," Tom corrected with an easy smile. "We just weren't allowed to leave the house when we got back because there was no way of explaining why we disappeared into thin air."

"I don't buy it," Joe Liebgott commented. He stepped forwards until he was standing beside Bill in what Jules thought was a rare moment of the pair of them agreeing on something. "We're supposed to believe you're fuckin' - what? Spies?"

"Your CO and intelligence officer literally lectured you on us and you're _still_ sceptical?" Martin asked, a bite to his incredulity. "Who else needs to tell you, mate? The head of the entire US Airborne? Because I'm sure I can get him for you."

" _I_ , for one, think they're telling the truth," George Luz announced, sidling forwards with his characteristic grin sitting proudly on his face. "It's the only explanation for how they're that good at drinking games."

Jules giggled quietly to herself, and George shot her a grin.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Whether or not we're telling the truth isn't up for debate. You've all been locked into this airfield, right? How else would we have gotten the security clearance to get in? How else would we have been allowed to listen in on a lecture about one of the most top secret military engagements of the war?"

"He does make a good point," George declared, looking between his friends with that same smile of his.

The Americans did still seem a tad bit sceptical, but after all, the evidence pointed to the fact that they were undeniably telling the truth. Juliette guessed it was quite the odd situation for them, though; these people they had known for months to be just normal civilians were suddenly reintroduced to them as spies after having dropped off of the face of the earth for sixth months. If she'd been in their position, she thought she probably would have been sceptical, too.

Over the course of further conversation they all seemed to gradually, and indeed subconsciously, split off into groups. A group of Americans all latched themselves onto a spy and asked all the questions they could think of that they hadn't been expressly forbidden from asking.

"How long have you been a spy?" Don Malarkey asked Juliette, his eyes wide and his demeanour eager; he looked incredibly excited to be in the presence of one. She felt somewhat like a celebrity.

"We started operating a few months before the outbreak of war," she told him with a small smile. 

"Jesus, since '41?" Alex Penkala asked, incredulous.

Juliette laughed and looked down at her fiddling hands with a small smile. These yanks constantly reminded her of their naïveté. "Since '39," she corrected him.

"Fuckin' Christ," Guarnere muttered under his breath.

Juliette smiled as she looked up at the group that had gathered around her. "It's been a long war for the Brits."

When she met eyes with Malarkey she saw him watching her sadly. He offered a kind smile twinged with pity as he asked, "When was the last time you went home?"

Jules sighed and shrugged nonchalantly, though the question stung because the answer was one she tried to forget. Instead of answering his question directly, she said, "The thing about being a spy is no one can know, and people are only told when absolutely necessary. That's why when we first came to Aldbourne we were all using fake names - because even though you're fighting on our side, if you were to get caught and interrogated it's an unnecessary risk for you to know us.

"But," she went on, "circumstances have deemed it absolutely necessary. Otherwise, top secret. I know my CO but I don't know my CO's CO. I couldn't tell you a single name of a spy not in my team, and I couldn't pick them out of a lineup either, and neither could they do the same for me." She paused, looking between them all to make sure they were following her. "That level of secrecy, even among our own ranks, means that your family can't know."

"So - what? Your family thinks you're some kind of nurse or somethin'?" George guessed.

Jules smiled sadly and gave a half-shrug. "In the eyes of my family, I died in 1939. My team is my family now, and wherever we go becomes home. It has to."

"Shit," George muttered, and she laughed a little bit. It did sound a bit morbid when she put it like that.

"What else are you allowed to tell us?" Skip Muck asked, and Jules mulled the question over for a few moments.

Eventually, she sighed. "Not much, if I'm honest. I can't tell you what I've done, where I've worked, how I trained or anything like that. Also can't tell you what we're doing in Normandy. But if you come up with any more questions and I'm allowed to tell you the answer then I will. I wouldn't badger Tom or Martin about it, though; Martin's fuse is a bit short these days and Tom, as our CO, has to be strict about it. You can ask me or Will though." When she saw them look to the other spies in the room, confused, she laughed a little bit. "Will was James when you knew him."

"Ah," they all hummed collectively.

"And Henry is actually Thomas?" Joe Toye wondered.

She nodded.

"And you're not Penny, you're..?" Malarkey began, trailing off to allow her to fill in the blank. She wasn't offended that he, and seemingly the others, too, had already forgotten her real name; it was a lot of information to take in in a short space of time.

"Juliette," she filled in for him, and they all nodded. "Pleased to meet you all, _properly_ this time."

"Swear that's your real name? Or we gonna have to do this shit all over again when you decide you wanna change things up?" Bill heckled.

She giggled, shaking her head. "That's my real name. Promise." She crossed her heart for good measure.

The interrogation died out after that and normal conversation took its place. It was once more just like old times. They treated her just as they had once treated Penny Williams after only a little bit of warming up, and she was even laughing with Liebgott at one point, as the groups all dispersed and intermingled.

Jules found herself beside Gene after she had been called over by Will, who had wanted to ask her whether he was allowed to say how long they had been operating. She told him that he was, and she laughed to herself as she watched him explain rather proudly that they had been operational since 1939.

She turned to Gene after a while of listening to Will and he must have felt her eyes on him, for he looked down at her almost instantly.

"Not so sceptical as the others?" she asked him jokingly.

He rolled his eyes as he chuckled to himself. "I have reason to believe you're tellin' the truth."

Jules grinned. "Don't tell the others of your foreknowledge. They'll be terribly jealous."

Gene just shook his head at her. After a few moments he told her, "Y'know, every time I think I've got rid'a you..."

Juliette giggled brightly at his insinuation, largely because it was entirely true. He really must have thought that this time, after having been sealed into a military airfield, that that would be it, and yet here she had shown up once again, refusing to be erased from his life.

"Oh, Gene," she began, laying a jokingly sympathetic hand on his arm, "you're my sidekick. That means the paths of our existences are now bound together for all eternity. You signed your soul away when you agreed to patch me up."

The medic chuckled to himself. "Lucky me."

Soon afterwards the team returned home, after they had sorted everything. Of course, they were due to return the following day, and then stay there overnight in preparation for the early-morning invasion (which was now only two days away) but it was both more convenient and more comfortable for them to return to the house that contained all of their belongings - and, incidentally, beds that weren't all shoved together in tents.

After they had each passed through the front door the four of them gathered in the living room, as was customary for them to do after anything remotely interesting had transpired beyond the four walls of the house.

Once they had all settled in, Tom clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well, I think that went well."

"Can't believe how sceptical they were," Martin commented. He huffed out a laugh from his place leaning against the liquor cabinet, arms crossed over his chest. "They were only told about it by not only their CO but their intelligence officer, and they still didn't believe us."

"Well, if you think about it, it must be a rather absurd situation for them," Juliette replied. "Imagine becoming friends with four completely normal people who then drop off of the face of the earth all of a sudden, only to return six months later claiming to have been spies the entire time. Personally, I think I'd be rather sceptical, too."

"I don't think I would," Will declared.

Martin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but you've got no common sense, mate. You'd believe me if I told you I was actually a bloody princess."

Jules laughed at this, as did Thomas, and Will pouted. "No I wouldn't!" he protested. "But if you'd said a prince - well, then that's a different story..."

This made them all laugh, and after the stress of the day it was a welcome reprieve.

When their laughter died down Martin straightened up from where he'd been leaning. "You know, this time tomorrow we'll be gearing up to invade Europe."

The thought of it sent an entirely new wave of nerves through Juliette, though she didn't know why; she'd jumped into occupied France so many times before it was hardly anything more out of the ordinary than brushing her teeth. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd be without any of her boys this time; even when she had been officially sent out alone, Alex had sent Will with her. This time, they would all be spread out amongst the different planes, and whilst she would be in the company of the yanks, it would be the first time she'd ever jumped into enemy territory without at least one of the boys beside her.

"If all goes well, it'll be the beginning of the end," Tom commented. They all nodded, contemplating this thought. Indeed, the invasion of Europe via France had such brute force, such intricate tactical work, and such firepower behind it that everyone was hoping it would be just the thing the Allies needed to turn the tide of the war in their favour.

The end of the war was such a staggeringly ludicrous idea to Juliette that even though she'd known this was the intention of the invasion, she could hardly even comprehend it. She still knew that a life beyond the war wasn't a life she'd get to experience, but the thought that they were getting close was almost unfathomable. And a life without the three boys by her side right then? That was downright unthinkable. 

Distantly, Jules wondered whether her brother would be invading, too; though she often liked to picture him as a pilot, she let herself imagine him a paratrooper with the British Airborne, jumping into occupied France at much the same time as she was. She didn't dare let herself imagine coming across him on the ground, because the implausibility of that idea would only break her heart, but she thought that perhaps it would be funny if he had indeed chosen a paratrooper's life, and was set to be invading Normandy via the air, too.

Martin unknowingly cut off her trail of thought. "In which case," he announced, "I believe there has scarcely ever been a better time for celebration." He had a sly grin creeping up his face. Before he even turned, Jules knew exactly what was coming, and true to her prediction, he pulled out one of the standard bottles of whiskey they had been gradually wading their way through during their time in Aldbourne.

Juliette went to retrieve the glasses and handed them each out to everyone, keeping two for herself and watching as Martin poured the liquid into the both of them. Once each glass had been filled, she went and placed the second one in her hands on the armchair Alex had always occupied, and stood back to look at it for a moment with a small smile.

"He should've been with us," Will uttered quietly from behind her. When she turned she found each of their eyes staring at the glass sadly.

She joined them in the small circle they'd formed in the centre of the room once more, turning back to look at the glass of whiskey once more. "In many ways, he still is."

Each of them shared a small smile, in which so many different things and so many conflicting emotions went unsaid, but understood by each: trepidation about what was to come, pride at what was likely about to be their most important mission yet, love for the people who stood around them, and sadness for those who didn't.

"To those we're fighting for," Martin toasted. They all clinked their glasses together, echoing the words back to him.

"To my mum and grandad," Martin said, knocking his back.

"To my parents, and my grandparents, and my little sister," Will added, knocking his back, too.

"To my mum and dad," Tom said. Then he paused and smiled a little bit, "and Noah." Noah, their commanding officer before Alex, who had also died in the field. Tom knocked his whiskey back.

Jules smiled at him, knowing he'd left the space open for her deliberately. "To my parents and my brother. And to Alex." And finally, she knocked hers back too.

Martin swiftly refilled their glasses, and they drank together for the first time since Alex had been killed. It worked wonders in relieving some of the stress Juliette felt, and the buzz of the alcohol soon made her forget why they had started drinking it in the first place.

At some point, Will had turned a radio on and turned it to a station playing swing music. All of them danced wildly, joyfully, like they hadn't a care in the world between them. They switched partners constantly, and Jules found herself being pushed and pulled every which way as each boy fought for her as a partner.

By the early hours of the morning - which was far later than they should have stayed up, but with no Alex there to tell them when to stop they simply didn't - they were in fits of laughter. There were tears streaming down Will and Jules' faces as the pair of them tripped over each other yet again whilst trying to foxtrot.

They ended up sitting together on the floor, leaning against each other and watching Martin and Thomas try to do it themselves, beaming grins on their faces. Will wrapped an arm around Juliette's shoulders and she leaned her head on his. For that moment, they were content. They had consumed enough alcohol that they had not a care in the world, and it was that time of day where the world beyond the walls of the house didn't seem to exist. The entirety of the universe was encased in that small, cosy living room in Aldbourne.

Jules looked away from where Martin and Tom were stumbling over each other and her eyes instinctively fell upon the armchair, as they so often did, always as though she was expecting to find Alex still sitting there. She stared at the glass she had left there for a little while, a melancholy smile playing at her lips, before she staggered to her feet and retrieved it, holding it up and declaring that they all should share it.

And so, starting with her, they each took a sip of the whiskey and finished it off between them. Tom raised it in the general direction of the armchair after he had finished it as though toasting to Alex.

"We miss you," he said into the air. And Juliette smiled, because it was true. They really, really did.


	4. Some Lurid Third Interval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end." - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

The hauptsturmführer would like to know why I write about myself in the third person in my confessions. The hauptsturmführer can go fuck himself. I write that way because he has killed Juliette Chevalier. He has murdered her. I thought she was gone before but I was wrong. The time of death of Juliette Chevalier is interchangeable with her moment of capture. The girl in my confessions does not deserve to be referred to as though she is me. I put that girl to shame.

My arms have been tied above my head for three days. I can't remember what the last thing I wrote was but it must not have been terribly important. Hauptsturmführer Becker hadn't been pleased with it, in any case. I'm exhausted, but even now I'm desperate to write again. I want to live in my memories again for a little while.

How wretched. My only moments of peace come from confessing everything I can remember about the past year. Juliette Chevalier, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I have failed you and, in turn, everyone you love.

Even if they don't kill me here - which they will - I will be shot. On British soil, or on French, or on American. I will be labelled as a collaborator and I will be shot.

How had I ever hated the girl I was back then? I was so naïve. I thought I had it so hard. I thought the world was against me. The tiniest of things could make me cry. How frivolous, to waste tears on dead babysitters and children's books. Juliette Chevalier was a better person than I am, but Juliette Chevalier was weak.

Maybe I do still have a little bit of her left in me, after all.

When the hauptsturmführer enters my cell he demands the two guards cut me down. I slam into the floor, the full weight of my exhaustion and my aching bones crashing down upon me. I couldn't move even if I wanted to. If I'm honest, I don't even bother to try.

When I am dragged back to my chair there is half a cup of water on the table, fresh sheets of paper, my usual pencil, and a small bowl of whatever horrible food they decided they didn't want to eat. I feel as though I'm going to be sick but I eat it anyway, and drink all of the water too. Because I am starving and because I am desperate.

When I reach for the pencil the hauptsturmführer grasps my hand tightly around the wrist, and I peer up at him with all of the ferocity of a terrified bunny rabbit.

"You will tell us about the Normandy invasion," he says, all sharp teeth and piercing eyes. "What you call D-Day. If you waste my paper, you will suffer the consequences. Two minutes per wasted page. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

He grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head down as close to the desk as he can get it without having me actually touch it. I close my eyes against the threat of slamming into the dark wood.

"I will be checking your progress."

As always.

"Happy writing."

Fuck you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the epilogue today :((( so emosh (im not finished writing yet i just needed to get it down hahahah)


	5. If He's Afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?' / 'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him." - George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Upon returning to the airfield and watching the paratroopers mill about, Juliette didn't feel so nervous anymore. Sure, she would have to make the jump without any of her team members, but it was something she'd done so many times she realised that she didn't really need them there for that part, anyway - the jump was her favourite part. 

She didn't know how many practise jumps the paratroopers had had to complete in order to pass their training, but either way, they were all practically vibrating with nerves. As they sat on the concrete floor of the airfield there were so many bouncing legs and tapping fingers it was a wonder the ground wasn't shaking. From where she sat in the jeep they'd been transported in on, she watched with a small smile; that had been them once upon a time.

The airfield was vast, there was no other word for it. They would usually take off from a special operations airfield, though none of them had even the faintest of ideas where it was (a precaution, in case of capture). This one, however, was so incredibly big it must have been easily spotted from the air - Juliette had scarcely ever been somewhere so expansively huge.

It was, of course, also filled to bursting with paratroopers, British and American alike.

Jules, Tom, Martin, and Will had been given ODs to change into before they left the previous day that would allow them to blend in better. However, their lack of webbing and the other bits of heavy duty equipment that would soon be attached to the paratroopers would make them stick out a little bit. As such, they had been taken directly to the vicinity Easy Company had been delegated, and were only allowed out of the vehicle once the men of the company had already set themselves up.

As she jumped out of the car, forgetting her helmet and thus making Thomas thrust it at her with an exasperated eye roll, Jules looked around at the many Easy Company men who were organising their equipment. They weren't set to leave until 0000 hours, and boarding the planes was likely to take an hour in and of itself, so they still had about six hours to go.

When the jeep that had transported them to the airfield had driven off, Thomas told them all to follow him and led them to a seemingly unoccupied tent. He let them enter first before he closed the tent flap behind him.

"Recite to me a play-by-play of what we're doing," he ordered, and nodded to Jules so that she would start.

"We'll load into planes in the midst of the paratroopers, I'll be with Welsh, you'll be with Winters, Will'll be with Nixon, and Martin'll be with Heyliger. We'll take off at 0000 hours, due to jump at roughly 0115 and land in Drop Zone C, about a mile west of Sainte Marie du Mont."

"Martin," Tom directed.

"We'll link up on the ground and you and I will head straight for Utah Beach. We'll cut every telephone line we find on the way."

"Will."

"Jules and I will set ourselves up about a mile away from the German artillery at Utah Beach and take out their radio communications. Once we've done that, we'll link up with you and Martin."

Tom took over, then. "We'll all four of us take out every German transport vehicle we find, and every bridge that links the German troops to the beaches to prevent them from sending reinforcements. We'll gather whatever intelligence we can that details their plans for troop deployments and report it back to US Airborne intelligence. Do we all follow?"

"Yes," they told him in unison.

"Good."

Tom went over a few more of the details with them - what to do in case of not meeting up on the ground, what to do in case of losing weapons, and what to do in case of not being able to get to the beaches - and ensured they had everything they needed before nodding to all of them.

"I've got a letter from Eisenhower, the brains behind this entire operation. Are we wanting to hear it now or along with the rest of our invaders? They're probably due to receive their copies about now."

"Just read it to us you pompous bastard," Martin heckled. Jules giggled at the face Tom pulled, but he retrieved the folded up piece of paper from his pocket anyway.

"Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force," he began to read, proclaiming it proudly as though he was delivering it as a speech in front of a grand audience. "You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you."

"That's a first," Jules commented. Martin nudged her in the side with a grin when Tom shot her a look for interrupting.

As he continued to read the performative voice he'd been putting on slowly died out. The letter went on and on about how they would be working to take down the Nazis and free oppressed Europe.

"About bloody time, too," Martin said. This time, Tom didn't bat an eye.

"Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped, and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely."

Eisenhower went on to list all of the contributions various groups of people were making: munitions workers in factories, pilots, nurses, so on and so forth.

"Never any mention of the spies, is there? Bloody wankers," Martin muttered, and Jules shot him a grin. They really were never acknowledged for their contribution to the war effort.

"Would you lot stop bloody interrupting!" Tom exclaimed. He heaved a sigh and tried not to smile before continuing to read aloud, "I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to duty, and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full victory. Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking." Tom looked back up at them to gauge their reactions before putting the paper back in his pocket again.

They each remained silent, staring back at Tom sombrely.

Eventually, Juliette couldn't hold in her laugh anymore. "Well, that was a bit bloody dramatic."

"Why don't we get one of those every time we go out? I think I'd quite like that kind of motivation every time we invade France," Will added.

Tom was shaking his head at them, but he was also laughing. "You lot are so awful. This is supposed to be serious! This is one of the biggest military invasions in history!"

"Yeah, and can't you tell it from that letter? The drama of it all," Martin remarked. Jules broke out into giggles.

"Right," Tom said, choosing not to acknowledge what Martin had commented. He clapped his hands together with finality. "We need to get war paint."

Jules grimaced but followed Will out of the tent nonetheless. When she got outside Thomas shot her one look, rolled his eyes, and headed straight back inside before emerging once more with her helmet. "You and this bloody helmet, Jules. You won't be able to jump without it."

She frowned. "I don't like it. It's massively too big for me."

"That's because you're little, but it'll help you blend in." Tom put it on her head and patted it once, causing it to cover her eyes completely, before leading them off to find the paint they needed. As soon as his back was turned, she took the helmet off again and scowled at it. She held it by the chinstrap and let it dangle at her side as she followed after the rest of her team, grumbling that she wasn't 'that little'.

Tom found a tin of the paint in the custody of Easy Company's Second Platoon, and they all sat themselves down and waited for them to finish using it. The artist in Juliette was horrified at the mess they were making of each other's faces, and she cringed to think that her own would soon look much the same.

"You guys ever jumped out of a plane before?" a Southern man nicknamed Popeye asked them. He was watching as they sat and waited for the paint, obviously not having the same amount of equipment on them that needed organising. Juliette had met him a few times and had come to like him rather a lot - he was very mild mannered, a little bit like Shifty Powers, who she also liked, and had that same Southern charm that a lot of the yanks had.

Jules laughed a little bit and looked at Tom, who was smirking. "Once or twice."

"Not usually with so much stuff, though," Will added. He was tugging at the webbing he had to wear to carry his equipment in the absence of their usual jump gear.

"So much stuff?! Have you seen the shit we have to carry?!" Toye exclaimed with a gesture to all of the equipment he had laid out in front of him.

"Aw, shit, don't set him off again," complained Frank Perconte, a short Italian-looking man who was good friends with George.

"Never took you for a complainer, Joe," Jules commented with a grin.

Toye scowled. "Yeah, well, this shit weighs as much as I do. If you had to carry it you'd be fuckin' complainin' too." And he continued to grumble to himself about how he was even going to get everything he needed on him. Jules wondered much the same, especially as they'd all clearly been at it for a while. She wondered whether it was even physically possible to get all of that stuff on one man.

"Hey, you finished with that yet?" Tom called out, presumably to whoever had the paint at that point. He ended up catching it at the very last minute as someone threw it straight at his face. He held it up with a smirk. "Nice try, you tosser," he shouted once more, shooting whoever had thrown it a wink.

"Jules!" he then called out to her. She looked to him quickly. "You're the artist among us." He held up the small pot of paint and raised his eyebrows.

Juliette looked once more down at her clean hands, likely the last time they'd be clean for a while, before sighing and jumping to her feet, making her way over to kneel before Thomas.

"Make me look beautiful," he told her with an impish grin.

"I'm an artist, not a miracle worker," she replied, and laughed when he shoved her.

Jules dipped her pointer finger into the murky black paint, which really felt more like pure grease, before glancing up at Tom and considering. After a few moments, she placed two dots and a curved line beneath them on his cheek, then sat back on her heels and grinned.

"Did you just draw a smiley face?"

She nodded. "I figure, that way, if the Germans find you, they'll go 'oh, he must be a nice guy, lets spare him'. The war paint is so intimidating otherwise."

Martin was watching her with a look of disbelief. "I could throttle you sometimes, Jules."

"Easy Company!" a voice suddenly cried. Juliette glanced up to see Lieutenant Meehan standing atop the hood of a jeep. "Listen up! Gather up around me!"

Whilst various calls from the officers and NCOs of the company rang out, Tom shot Jules an appalled expression at having to gather with the rest of the men with a smiley face on his cheek. She only giggled, and eventually the entirety of the company, along with Juliette, Thomas, Will, and Martin had gathered around him.

"The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog," Meehan began explaining to the crowd. "High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight." He enunciated these three words clearly.

Jules shared confused looks with the three men beside her; postponing the invasion was a major security risk, and if they were waiting for better weather they were unlikely to get it for another couple of weeks. It was an absurd decision, in her opinion, however necessary it may be for a straightforward jump into Normandy.

"The invasion has been postponed. We're on a twenty-four hour stand down," Meehan continued to explain, though no one was really listening to him anymore. Everyone had already begun to turn back in the direction they'd come from, grumbling either to themselves or to their friends about how ridiculous the whole thing was.

Thomas had begun rubbing furiously at his cheek, trying to get the paint off or at least smudge it, all the while Juliette was laughing at him. Will turned from where he'd been walking in front of them, whilst Martin was behind.

"Are we going back home tonight? Or are we staying here?" he asked. "Because I left my toothbrush back in Aldbourne."

"Have they even got anywhere for us to sleep?" Martin wondered, sidling up on Jules' left.

Tom sighed. "I don't even know who to ask." He ran a hand over his face then grimaced once he realised he had just used that same hand to smear his face paint. Then, he sighed, and nodded to himself. "Okay, we're going back. I'll organise a car and I'll drive us. They won't say no - they never do."

"Perks of being a spy," Juliette said with a grin. "People are so scared of you they'll say yes to anything you ask."

Martin scoffed. "No one's scared of you, Jules."

Juliette rolled her eyes but Tom slung an arm across her shoulders affectionately. "Well, they should be."


	6. An Invention of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I will vanish in the morning light; I was only an invention of darkness." - Angela Carter, The Lady of the House of Love

As soon as Juliette arrived back at the airfield the following day she could already tell that nerves were running high. Everyone knew there would be no more postponing. As Colonel Sink had said in his letter to the regiment, tonight was the 'night of nights'.

After all of the preparations everyone had made the previous day under the impression that they would already be in Normandy by now, there was little to do apart from sit around and wait. Where the paratroopers were concerned, they still had to gather and attach all of their equipment to themselves again, and even though Juliette had seen them do it the previous day it still seemed like an impossible task seeing it all laid out before each of them. She was glad she didn't have to jump with all of that; she wouldn't be able to stand.

Thomas drove them all straight to where he recalled Easy Company being stationed, and she grinned when she saw the familiar faces. Toye looked to be just as happy as he was yesterday about having to carry their bucket loads of equipment.

"Boys," she greeted them when she hopped out of the jeep.

Bill squinted his eyes as he watched them all approach. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Well, unlike you poor, unfortunate souls, we have a house and beds," Tom replied easily, shooting him a smirk. "Have fun spending the night in a tent?"

"Again," Malarkey muttered. Bill merely rolled his eyes.

The boys were all alight with jitters. Jules approached George where she saw him repeatedly counting his equipment.

"Ready to invade Fortress Europe?" she asked him, smiling.

He jolted in place before looking up at her, falling back into his easy smile when he saw who it was. "Born ready," he told her with a grin. "Are _you_?"

She patted him on the shoulder before taking a seat beside him. "Not my first rodeo, my friend."

Before he could ask, she added, "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you. How did that date with Mary-the-barmaid go? Was there a sequel?"

George stared at her for a moment, not seeming to recognise the name (which wasn't a good sign) before his mouth fell open in realisation. "Oh! Damn, you really have been gone a while." Jules shrugged before he continued. "We went out twice but, eh, I don't know. We didn't really click. Not like me and you, anyway." He nudged her with a wink and she rolled her eyes. "But then I met Mabel."

"Mabel?" Juliette echoed, intrigued.

"Mabel," he repeated with a nod. "Blonde. Works at the tailor's. Smokin' hot."

"Scale of one to ten?" she asked.

He grinned again. "Fourteen."

Jules whistled.

"Anyway, we went on three dates before her boyfriend came back. And then I met Amelia."

George continued to rattle off his many dates with many different girls and Jules listened intently with an amused grin. George seemed to be more in love with the idea of love than he was with any of the girls he went out with, but he was all excitement at the mention of each and every one of them - plus, he had obviously taken care to remember each name, which was sweet. Regardless, the female population of Aldbourne and all of the neighbouring towns the paratroopers had visited on their weekend passes (mainly Swindon, but apparently they had been to London a few times) didn't seem to mind. He had had rather a lot of successes, regardless, because he was talking for about ten minutes straight.

Eventually, he finished his monologue. "What about you?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. "Any boys I should know about? Anyone I need to fight? Anyone I need to compete with?"

Juliette laughed. "My heart belongs to you, George," she told him with a dramatised whimsical sigh. "No competition."

"None at all?" he asked, narrow-eyed and suspicious. "I don't believe you."

There had, she supposed, been one. Just one. And she remembered the feeling of his lips vividly, even though the kiss had lasted mere seconds. But that was a painful memory, and a personal one, too. She hadn't even told Thomas what happened between her and Alex, and she didn't know if she ever would. Really, she thought, there wasn't so much to tell.

"One boy," she told him finally, and surprised herself with the confession. "But he's..." She couldn't even say it.

"What? He's a bastard?"

"No!" she exclaimed, perhaps rather a bit too passionately. "He was a dear friend of mine. He's gone now, is all."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," George offered quietly. He clearly didn't quite know what to do with himself, or what to make of the statement. 'Gone' could mean a great many things, but she'd left it ambiguous intentionally.

Juliette shrugged. "It's okay. He was too good for me anyway."

Jules caught sight of Gene, who she hadn't seen at all the previous day, a little while later. She watched him from afar for a few moments, trying to gauge his countenance. Eventually she decided that he could use some cheering up. She left George and approached the medic from behind, tapping him on the shoulder and laughing when he jumped.

"Gene," she greeted, as had become tradition for her to do.

He gave her a small smile, and even in that she could see his nerves. Still, she chose not to mention it - each of the Americans were buzzing with anxiety, and in her experience the best way to handle it was to forget it even existed.

"Tom'll no doubt come looking for me in a bit to do his paint. You don't mind if I hide with you, do you?"

He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "Uh, no, you're fine."

Jules grinned and settled herself on the floor cross-legged, watching as he paused a moment before doing the same.

"What's your favourite colour?" she asked him, watching his face carefully as he formulated his response.

"Blue," he replied simply.

"What shade of blue?"

"Light blue. Like the sky."

Jules looked up and smiled into the sunlight. She realised then that she'd been wrong yesterday; the weather had indeed cleared. And just in time for D-Day (mark two). "Sky blue," she commented, nodding. "I saw a painting that colour once. In Paris. Well, I saw a few, really, but there was one that was really special. And the room wasn't very well lit, either, so everything glowed in the way where you kind of feel special for being able to look at it - like you're being let in on a secret or something." She glanced at him once when she spoke, though her mind was back in the Dancers' Foyer of the Paris Opera House. "Ever since, I've liked that colour a lot, too."

"What's your favourite?" he asked.

She didn't even hesitate. "Yellow." She smiled as she watched his eyebrows quirk a little bit. "It was my mum's favourite colour," she explained, letting the nostalgia wash over her. "And once upon a time I used to think that nothing could ever go too badly wrong if there was a little bit of yellow about, because it's such a happy colour."

"You don't think that anymore?" he wondered.

Juliette looked back at him and gave a half-shrug. "Some things are a bit too horrible to be cured so easily. But I still think it's nice."

She fiddled with the sleeve of her paratrooper ODs as she thought up more ways to distract him from his nerves, though when she opened her mouth to speak he beat her to it.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

Jules shot him a grin. "Maybe."

A smile tugged at his lips but it faded quickly. "Are you scared?"

"Of the jump tonight?" she asked. He nodded. She contemplated how to answer this; on the one hand, she didn't want to seem smug that she really wasn't, or make him feel silly that he was (because she could see that he was, just like all of the others). But on the other hand, she wanted to be honest with him. He had always been honest with her.

"No," she said finally, the word emerging quiet and soft. She sent him a smile. "But I've jumped into enemy territory more times than I can count. My first time, though, I was terrified."

"Yeah?" he asked. Suddenly, that small smile was back.

"Oh, big time," she replied, laughing a little bit. "There were six of us back then, and we were all fresh out of training. Freshly put together, too, so we didn't really know each other very well. Tom and I did, because we trained together, but the others were practically strangers. And we'd met maybe once and all of a sudden we were in this aeroplane about to jump into occupied France. I sat in the plane and cried, I was so scared. I'd jumped out of a plane before, but this was different, because when I hit the ground I knew it was important. No mistakes this time, right?"

Gene nodded along, letting her know he was following her.

"When I hit the ground I crashed into it hard, because I let myself get so worked up I forgot my training. It hurt so much, but we had to keep moving. And the whole thing was such an ordeal - it was a baptism of fire of a mission. But when we jumped back into England, it was the best feeling in the world. I cried again afterwards, though. Mainly because I really didn't want to do it again. But you get used to it."

"How long ago was it?"

"That was in '39," she told him. "Right before the outbreak of war. I was..." She counted on her fingers. "Seventeen." Gene's jaw fell open and she giggled. "No minimum age to be a spy." Then she smiled again. "Anyway, you're supposed to be scared your first time. Even though you've probably done about a million practise jumps, it's different. If you're not scared you've got a problem, really, because it means you don't really understand what you're doing."

Jules didn't know if any of what she was saying was making him feel better, but she hoped that it was. When she looked to him once more she found him deep in thought, and she knew he was thinking hard on what he was about to do. But Juliette had launched herself into enemy territory enough times and in enough different ways that she felt she had experienced every single type of anxiety in existence, and prided herself on being able to identify them in other people. She hoped this final tactic would work for him.

"Hey, Gene?" she called quietly, breaking him out of his train of thought.

"Hm?" he answered, looking back at her.

"What's your biggest fear in the entire world? Not just right now, but always?"

He didn't even hesitate. "My family gettin' hurt." She smiled a little bit; she'd been expecting something along those lines.

"Well, you know what?" she told him, leaning closer as if she was sharing a secret. "There's no risk of that happening here."

He let her words sink in, mulling them over in his head. She was dutifully watching the other paratroopers when he looked up at her again.

"Yeah," was all he said, and Jules smiled to herself. She didn't know whether it had worked or not, but she was hopeful that it might have.

As her eyes were scanning the crowd of paratroopers all sitting on the concrete of the airfield, suddenly she sighed. "Tom's got the paint again."

"He seen you yet?"

She shook her head. "Don't think so. Oh - wait. Spoke too soon."

"Jules!" Tom shouted at her. Juliette sighed, but she was smiling.

"Tom!" she called back with equal enthusiasm.

"There's my favourite _artiste_ ," he commented as he came over. "Can I request a commission?"

"How much will you pay me?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll pay you in not assigning you all the shitty jobs next mission."

"I'm always undercover. I get the shitty jobs anyway."

He grinned. "Pity." Then he threw a glance back over his shoulder. "I've already done Will and Martin - and yes, before you ask, they do look beautiful - but with a face like this I thought I'd better ask a professional."

She hummed her agreement. "Only the very best of the best can improve a face like that." She heard Gene chuckle and shot him a grin.

Thomas scowled. "Ha ha." Then he threw himself down on the floor in front of her and leaned in until his face was within her reach. "Paint."

"Yes, sir," she replied. She took the tin out of his hands and began to smear it across his face.

After a moment, she sat back and grinned. "I've made you a cat."

"Jules!"

"Fine!" She huffed and messed up her work, taking to smudging the black everywhere until he was covered in it. "Right, you're finished. Au revoir."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Je te laisse avec ton petit ami, dois-je?" _I'll leave you with your boyfriend, shall I?_

Jules glared. "He understands French, Thomas."

Tom grinned rakishly. "C'est embarrassant." _Yes,_ she thought, _it is._

"Adieu," he bid them. The white of his teeth was glaring against his blackened face when he smiled. Then he turned and disappeared back in the direction he'd come from.

Juliette rolled her eyes and desperately tried to bid the red in her cheeks to dull. She tried to take deep breaths as quietly as she could, hoping to neutralise the colour in her face. Eventually, she turned to Gene, hoping to God she had been successful. "Paint?"

He shrugged, so she got to work smearing it across his pale skin.

"You're an artist?" he asked after a little while.

She laughed quietly to herself, focusing mostly on not getting the grease in his hair. "I wanted to be. I used to paint a lot, but there's no time for it now. Besides, I haven't really had the inspiration. I wouldn't know what to paint."

Gene nodded to himself. Now it made sense, how she had talked at such length about colour. She had an artist's eye.

After she had finished Gene took the paint off of her, and just as he was about to start applying it she smiled suddenly. "Draw a butterfly."

He shook his head at her but she could feel him doing it, his pointer finger smearing the paint in curved lines across her cheek. When he'd finished he chuckled to himself, and she grinned. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful," he said. She laughed.

He set to work smearing the butterfly into oblivion then, before smudging the black across the entirety of her face. When he was done he capped the tin and handed it off to a soldier who had been waiting for it.

That was when a man who also had a medic's patch on his bicep approached, and gave Gene what he announced as 'air sickness pills' which Gene was to delegate to the platoons - one before takeoff and one thirty minutes in the air, he was told.

When the man left, Gene looked down at the pills and back up to Juliette. She laughed, understanding what he was thinking. "I'm all good," she told him with a smile. "Save them for the others. A few of your boys are already looking a bit green."

When Gene looked past her to the other paratroopers, Jules looked down at her hands and made a face at all the black that was smeared across them. When she tried to wipe them on her trousers, her sleeves fell down. She huffed. "You lot have _such_ long arms," she muttered, pushing them right back up again.

Gene glanced back at her and shook his head with a small smile. He put the pills in his pocket and gently took ahold of her arm, pulling the sleeve back down and beginning to roll the fabric up for her. Juliette watched with wide-eyed fascination as he folded the sleeve all the way up until it rested just above her wrist, returned the arm back to her side, and then picked up the other one. She smiled to herself as she watched him do the same again.

Once he was finished, Juliette held up both of her arms and grinned, as though she was showing off his handiwork to him. "They're perfect," she declared, wondering why she hadn't thought to do that herself.

Gene smiled. He took the air sickness pills back out of his pocket and she knew he was about to leave to begin handing them out. Suddenly the warmth that had filled her left, and she frowned slightly. He opened his mouth to talk just as she threw her arms around his neck and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

He hugged her back and when they pulled apart she offered him a shy smile.

"Remember, it's okay to be scared," she told him, holding onto one of his hands with both of hers. "If you don't cry you're already braver than I was on my first time."

Gene nodded, his smile slightly broader than his usual ones. "I'll tell ya if I do."

This made her laugh. "Good. I'll be waiting to find out."

Juliette gave his hand a squeeze and reluctantly let him go, turning and watching as he gave the paratrooper closest to them his air sickness pills and recited when to take them. Beyond the soldier she caught Will's eye, and weaved her way through the masses of soldiers sitting on the floor until she reached him.

"They look really scared," Will commented quietly when she stood beside him. His eyes were on the paratroopers.

Jules had a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. But so were we, once."


	7. It's No Use Going Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'I could tell you my adventures - beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: 'but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'" - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Juliette slammed into the ground and rolled, minimising the damage that could be done to her body. The damage that would be done to her mission, however? Unavoidable. For as much work as she'd been putting in as far back as September to try to divert German artillery to Calais or Norway, they seemed to have a hell of a lot of it aimed at the sky over Normandy. Aeroplanes had fallen to the ground like rain, the midnight sky as bright and orange as a sunset.

She didn't know where she was, but she knew damn well that it wasn't Drop Zone C.

Wary of the fact that Germans could be anywhere, Jules made quick work of unhooking her parachute and rolling it up. She ran to a wood she saw close by and hid the chute in amongst some shrubbery, her head shooting up when she heard gunfire back in the direction she'd just come from. The Germans really were close, it seemed.

Juliette made her way further into the woods, taking cover in amongst the trees. She knew they had gotten the green light to jump about ten minutes too early, which put her likely to the south of her objective. Removing the watch from her breast pocket, she squinted through the darkness to make out the compass readings on its face. She turned in the direction displaying north and began to walk; that was the only start she could think to make.

As she walked - and indeed, she seemed to be walking for hours, the paranoia spurred on by unforgiving silence and sporadic gunfire elongating the minutes - Jules wondered where Will was, and whether he was already at the meeting point waiting for her. Or perhaps he'd been there so long he had already gone to the beach to do his job. The entire thing was so frustrating she could have screamed, but that would have drawn dangerous attention, so she had to be content to chew on her lip and clench her hands into fists.

After what was likely about an hour and a half of walking, Juliette reached the edge of the wood and crouched between the trees to scour the open field before her. A little ways to the left of her she spotted a bridge and knew it was highly likely there was a signpost around it somewhere. The open space she would have to expose herself in to get there was an issue, so she made her way as far left as she could in the wood until she was opposite the bridge. She resolved to army crawl her way over to it, and threw herself down onto the floor before beginning to crawl on her stomach.

Jules let her forehead fall into the mud and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the words 'Ste. Marie du Mont' painted on the signpost, along with an arrow and a mile count of how far away it was. Her prediction had been correct; she had landed south of the drop zone.

By the time Juliette had found cover again she was covered from head to toe in mud. Even her face was caked in it, the dark brown of the dirt covering the majority of the black paint she had been wearing. She had long since left her helmet behind - with how big it was on her, it had covered her eyes too frequently, and would have only marked her as a target when she was crawling. She imagined what Thomas would say when he found her without it yet again, and smiled to herself as she made her way through the line of trees separating one field from the next.

When Jules eventually made it to her meeting point with Will, she had only had to hide from Germans three times, and beyond that had had little more trouble. She waited for him for about half an hour, worrying increasingly that he hadn't been quite as lucky in navigating Normandy as her, before checking the time and realising the landings would be soon.

She sighed. Will had the equipment they needed to take out the radio signals, so she needed to find another way to hinder the Germans.

Juliette made her way closer to Utah Beach, covering the mile that led to it in varying degrees of nervousness and paranoia. By now, she was worrying that Will hadn't even made it out of the plane. After all, how many planes had she seen go down before any of the paratroops had even had the chance to jump? How many had she seen go up in flames?

When the landings began, she heard it, even from half a mile away. And it sounded like a massacre. She knew she shouldn't waste her time worrying about it when she was supposed to be making herself useful from the other side of enemy lines, but it was difficult with the sheer volume of noise. The sound of mortars, gunshots, and grenades all going off simultaneously was deafening. She knew that more blood was being spilled right then and there than she could even begin to comprehend.

To Juliette's dismay, there were no telephone lines she could cut on this side of the beach, and without finding any transport vehicles and without the equipment (or expertise) necessary to take out radio signals, there was little she could do. That was, until she came across a soldier leaving what appeared to be an intelligence outpost in order to relieve himself in the midst of the trees she was currently crouched in.

Sometimes, Jules thought, she had absolutely brilliant luck. True, sometimes it was completely rotten, but other times the world offered her better opportunities than she could even have thought up herself.

Juliette hid herself back in the shadows of the densely packed trees and waited until the man was at his most vulnerable. Then, she shot him, thankful more than ever for the silencer on her gun. As soon as he hit the ground she began stripping him.

Rolling up her braided hair she pulled it up onto the top of her head and stuffed it under his field cap, which she pulled down as low as she could get it. Thankfully, it fit her better than her paratrooper helmet had.

She made quick work of ridding him of his belt and jacket, and put it on over the top of her American ODs to try and fill herself out a bit, making her build appear more masculine. The trousers were a bigger issue to hike up over both the trousers of her ODs and her jump boots, especially when both of those things were sodden with mud and dirt. The belt also did nothing to hold everything up, so she had to make do with rolling the waist band over as many times as she could. She silently thanked Gene for giving her that idea.

Finally, she stripped the German of his gun, which he had likely brought with him as a safety precaution, and looked for any intel on him. When she came up dry, she hid his body in amongst the trees she had not long ago been crouching in, and tried to hold herself with confidence as she marched into the German intelligence tent. At least, that was what she hoped it was.

"Du warst lange weg," a man in an officer's uniform spoke to her upon entering. He hadn't looked up, and she was glad for it, for he had no reason to believe anything was wrong when she walked behind him.

"Schneider?" said the only other man in the tent. This man was shorter, and stockier, and had on the same uniform as she did.

She shot the officer before he could turn around, and the other man immediately after, before he could even draw his gun. _Thank god for silencers,_ she thought once more, having resolved to use her own gun instead of the German's. And thank God her and the others had refused the American guns they had been offered, which were so loud they were almost deafening.

Jules quickly gathered whatever pieces of paper she could find - every map, notebook, scrap of paper, and every booklet were folded and shoved into the pockets of her paratrooper ODs. When she was finished she took one last look at the place and sighed, knowing there would be no way to make this look like an accident. She left briskly, lest another German decide to make a trip to the intelligence outpost.

Juliette headed back on her way to the meeting point directly. She had taken off the German field hat, just in case any Americans saw it in silhouette now that daytime had lit everything up, but stuffed it into the waistband of her trousers just in case she needed it later. As she walked, she got very, very hot; she was, after all, wearing two different field uniforms, an entire novel's worth of paper, and a field's worth of mud. She knew she must have looked wonderful.

She found Will waiting for her at the meeting point, facing the direction she had first arrived at it from. She smiled to herself.

"Flash," she said to him once she'd gotten close enough. She was grinning, and when he turned and saw her he jumped about a foot into the air.

"Christ, Jules!" he exclaimed. She was slightly surprised he'd even recognised her, though she thought perhaps the hair was her giveaway. And her voice. "What the hell are you doing in a kraut uniform?"

"Kraut?" Jules made a face. "You're starting to sound like a yank, William." Then she smiled again. "Anyway, while you were off taking your sweet time to get to the meeting point, I was raiding a German intelligence tent. I took everything I could find. And before you ask, I'm wearing my American ODs underneath. And yes, I am baking. You go take out the radios, I'll wait here for the others. We're behind schedule."

Will quickly headed in the direction of the beach without her - he didn't really need her there, anyway, as he could do what he needed to do with a good amount of distance between himself and the target. Tom and Martin arrived about five minutes after he'd gone.

"Will?" Tom asked.

"Gone to do the radio signal. I thought I'd wait here so you knew what was happening. He arrived late," she explained.

"You look like you've been having fun," Martin commented. He looked her up and down where she sat with a mixture of disgust and amusement.

She laughed. "I've been busy. I'm wearing two sets of ODs, all of the mud in Normandy, and about fifteen stacks of German intelligence. Needless to say, I'm baking bloody hot. Better be worth it, that's all I'm gonna say."

"Keep the Boche uniform," Tom told her with a nod of approval. "It's a good shout. Could come in handy."

Jules pulled the field hat out of her waistband and smiled proudly as she showed it to them. "Got the hat, too."

"That's brilliant," Martin laughed. When he tried to take it from her she yanked it back out of his reach with a pout and put it on.

"Finders keepers," she said. "Plus, it doesn't match your outfit."

Martin gave her a shove, which set her to giggling to herself.

"Did you cut the telephone wires?" she went on to ask. She turned her attention to Tom, who was mindlessly rubbing at the black paint he had already mostly sweated off.

"Yeah. One of them was already taken down by one of the planes, which was convenient. But we cut all of the others."

Jules nodded, and they fell into a short silence whilst waiting for Will to return; none of them really wanted to speak that much on what they'd already done that morning.

When Will came back, Tom jumped straight back into the particular phenomenon that Jules had deemed 'CO mode'. "Jules, how close have you been to the beach?"

"I was about half a mile from it. I didn't see any transport vehicles. No tanks, either."

"Right, it was the same where we were. Let me see the maps you've got." When Jules pulled them all out from every pocket she could find he scanned through them quickly before seeming to land on one that was of interest, for his eyes lit up. He handed all of the maps he didn't need back to Juliette and kept his eyes locked on the one he was using, nodding and mumbling to himself. "Okay, we're heading back inland. We're going to blow up every German transport vehicle we can find, and every bridge that's circled on here. With the lack of communication the beach won't be able to call for reinforcements, but as soon as that radio signal goes back up they're going to be calling for all the help they can get."

Juliette, Martin, and Will all nodded along with the orders. They followed Thomas through the trees in the direction of the German troop deployment that was closest to them. They were set to have a very long D-Day, but at least they had all made it this far. That was an achievement in and of itself.


	8. To the Heart of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "At war with myself and a wretched race,  
> Sick, sick to the heart of life, am I."  
> \- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Maud

I have been removing tiny shards of broken glass from my skin for a week. I take care to keep track of the days based on when they bring me food: twice a day, always at midnight and midday. There are no windows, so I'm always in either artificial light or darkness. I try to sleep whenever I'm not writing or being interrogated. Food is the only way I can keep track of time.

The broken glass has left a pattern of scars like freckles scattered across my left hip. It burned searingly hot when they crushed it there, and it still burns now, but the pain is duller now. I would rather that than the carbolic again, so I don't complain.

Is it stupid that I'm worried they'll cut my hair? Now that I think of it, it really is.

When they're working out which methods get to you the most in order to extract your confessions easiest, they try everything. I worked out what they were doing after a couple of days, and when they stripped me of my clothing to interrogate me I tried my very best to pretend I didn't care. I pretended that I had neither vanity nor modesty. If they knew I had both, they would cut my hair. They would shave it all.

I really want to keep my hair.

The hauptsturmführer is most interested about D-Day. I think that's why my punishments have been minimal for how much I've rambled about it. To be honest, I think he's growing rather fond of the characters in my confessions, too. I think Thomas is his favourite, but Thomas is everyone's favourite. He's always been mine, at least.

I think of Thomas often. I don't know when I started calling him Thomas. He's Tom. He has always been Tom. I think of Tom often. I think of them all often, but I think I think of him the most. I think of Gene, too, sometimes, but I try not to. I don't deserve him. I never did, but especially not now. I really hope he thinks I'm dead.

I don't really think of my parents anymore. Not often, in any case. I don't know what that says about me and I don't care to try to work it out.

My confessions have been confiscated again for analysis. I referred to them as a novel once and got a right old bollocking for it so I won't be doing that again, even mentally, just in case I slip up. Sometimes I try to be funny when Hauptsturmführer Becker speaks to me and I suffer for it every time, but sometimes it's worth it. The punishment for snarkiness is much less than what it is for wasting time and paper - think more along the lines of no food for three days, sometimes no water for two. It's not pleasant, but sometimes I take the risk anyway, just to feel like I've got some fight left in me. I always thought I'd go out fighting, so I suppose this is my way of rebelling even though I have fallen at their feet and laid my sins bare. Most of them, anyway; I haven't finished my story yet.

When I finish my story it's over, so I suppose my lengthy narrative is, in part, to bide time. I don't know why I do it, because when I'm not remembering and writing I'm praying for death, but every time I immerse myself in the past I suppose I'm consumed once more by my old fighting spirit. Juliette was a fighter.

I miss Juliette. Jules. I miss being Jules.

I know it irritates the hauptsturmführer when I put in parts of the story that I wasn't actually there for, which, in part, is why I do it. Like moments after I had fallen asleep, or walked away, or so on and so forth. In those cases I take a guess at what might have happened, and I try to make those guesses as accurate as possible based on what I know of the person I'm describing or how they've spoken to me about the event since. Makes it feel more real to do that, too. Kind of like I'm a detective uncovering a story, even though I already know the ending.

She gets captured, and it's game over. Hauptsturmführer Becker knows it. The French Resistance woman who has to translate parts of my story knows it (sometimes I deliberately don't translate the French, just to irritate Becker because he doesn't speak a word of it). In any case, Juliette gets captured by the Nazis. It's a rotten ending, but it's true. The story leading up to that event is much more interesting than the event itself, but writing it out is so much like rereading 'Romeo and Juliet'; you're told from the beginning exactly what's going to happen to them, but you hope with your entire being every time that this time it'll be different. It's kind of like that, here, because even though I know that Juliette gets caught, I find myself really, really hoping she doesn't.

I might change the ending. Just because. I'll get hurt for it, and be forced to write the proper ending anyway, but I might change it first. I want to give Juliette her happy ending. She deserves it, I think. Or maybe she doesn't. It's not my place to decide, really, but currently I'm the author and I decide that she does. I've got a little way to go yet, before the ending, so I'll consider it. I wonder what the punishment will be for lying.

On second thought, maybe I'll just tell the truth. The real ending is horrible, but they'll do worse than hang me if I lie.

Oh Seigneur, aie pitié. Aie pitié. Je suis désolé. Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu.

I can hear the girl in the cell next to me screaming. I don't know what they did to her, but she's been wailing in agony ever since they threw her back in there, which was perhaps thirty minutes ago. Contrary to popular belief, prisoners are not friends with fellow prisoners. I have never met that girl, though she has been here longer than I have. I only ever hear her scream in French, so I assume she's part of the Maquis. I wonder what she thinks about me when I come back to my cell screaming my own bloody murder. Does she think of it as a show of anonymous solidarity like I do with her?

That's stupid. That's a stupid thought. That's a horrible thought. She's in agony.

I think they'll be taking me in next. We have a meeting due, the hauptsturmführer and I, about the recent developments of my story. After he left me with the two guards to write for twenty days straight and I chose to detail everything that happened in Aldbourne in excruciating detail, he hasn't left me alone for that long since. He drills into me that I am not to waste his time, but he lets me tell my story nonetheless. I get punished, but he lets me continue to do it. But he doesn't leave me alone to write lest I try to go that deep into it again.

When the door opens I don't even look up. I am still sprawled out across the floor from where the guards dropped me. I hear the hauptsturmführer laugh.

"Get her on her feet," he tells the guards in German, and they haul me up by my elbows.

When I look Hauptsturmführer Becker in the face he is smirking. "I would like to know what happens next," he tells me.

That makes one of us.


	9. A Fall that Seems Like Flying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cyrano: The leaves -  
> Roxanne: What color - Perfect Venetian red! Look at them fall.  
> Cyrano: Yes - they know how to die. A little way  
> From the branch to the earth, a little fear  
> Of mingling with the common dust - and yet  
> They go down gracefully - a fall that seems  
> Like flying!"  
> \- Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac

It was sunset by the time Juliette and the others made it to where the Americans had set themselves up. Considering the fact that there were multiple companies from Second Battalion supposed to be sharing the space, there were a lot less people around than she had expected, which did not bode well.

Casualties in the air as well as on the ground must have been much severer than she had initially assumed. She hoped that for the most part there were paratroopers still wandering around Normandy trying to find their units, and that the incredibly low numbers she was seeing now weren't all that had survived.

Walking through an American army-occupied space, which contained companies of men who weren't aware of her existence, whilst also wearing a German army uniform was not a good idea. At that point, the team of spies had been walking for so long, blowing up this bridge and that transport vehicle all day, that they hadn't even considered as much before they walked into the area. As soon as Thomas noticed the stares he startled, looked to Jules, and laughed a little bit.

"Right, lets find Easy."

After asking three different soldiers they eventually located Dick Winters, who was currently standing in as the company commanding officer as Lieutenant Meehan hadn't yet arrived. Winters took one look at Juliette, shook his head, and smiled to himself.

"You need Nixon?" he asked.

Jules nodded. "Please. I've got pockets full of German intelligence."

Winters led Juliette to Nixon in relative silence whilst Tom and the others stayed behind to search for food. He didn't ask her about what she'd done throughout the day and nor did she ask him. There was a mutual understanding between them that it had been a long and difficult day for all, though from looking at him Jules thought he had drawn the short straw over her. He looked utterly exhausted. Defeated, even.

When the pair of them reached Nixon, the intelligence officer laughed. "What are you doing dressed like a kraut?" he asked. His eyes were filled with mirth as he scanned her up and down, still very much covered in mud but the German uniform was unmistakable.

"Playing dress up," she told him with a sarcastic smile. "I thought the colour would look better on me."

Nixon only laughed. "I'm guessing you've got something for me?"

Juliette began pulling out every scrap of paper, booklet, and notepad she had on her, thrusting them at him each time she found another until both his and Winters' hands were full of German intel. "Straight from the German intelligence outpost at Utah Beach. They send their regards."

Winters laughed a little bit, and Nixon smirked. "I'm sure they do. Next time you're there send them our thanks for all the intel. Looks like you've been carrying around a library's worth."

Jules grinned. "I'll be sure to do so." Then she gestured to the papers him and Winters were glancing down at. "That was everything I could find. We tried to scour for intel when we were doing various other things but came up dry. I hope there's something useful in there. At the very least, there's a map that has all of their troop deployments between here and Utah Beach - that intel's definitely correct because we gathered it ourselves."

Winters nodded his approval. "You've been busy."

Jules shrugged. "Just trying to be useful."

"Well, you've got a hell of a lot here. I'm sure at least some of it's gonna do some good." Nixon sent Jules a kind smile and she nodded, suddenly bashful.

"I hope so." Then she glanced back up at them both and gave them a smile. "Well, that's everything."

Winters nodded. "Did you want me to walk you back -"

Jules smiled. "Thank you, but I'll be okay." She sent them a final nod before turning, but just as she went to walk away she spun back suddenly. "Also, just a bit of local knowledge, don't try to use any telephones. The Boche will be the first to tell you that it's a waste of time."

When the pair of them smiled, understanding her intended meaning, she nodded at them both once more before leaving for real this time. She set off into the growing darkness to find the rest of her team.

Juliette prayed that the boys would be somewhere she could find them - she did not want to be left to walk around the makeshift camp by herself. As she kept her eyes peeled for them she thought that she really should have taken Winters up on his offer; now she was walking around in the dark, dressed like a German soldier, and surrounded by men who didn't know there was a woman amongst them. A true recipe for disaster if ever she'd heard one.

Just as she was about to turn around and find somewhere to hide, a familiar face came into view, and she sighed out her relief aloud. "Joe!" she called.

When Liebgott turned his eyes brightened with recognition, and then narrowed in confusion. "What the fuck are you doing in a kraut uniform?"

"Huh? Oh. I keep forgetting about that." She laughed a little bit to herself as she came to stand before him. "Used it to go undercover. Anyway, do you happen to know where Tom is? Or any of the others?"

Liebgott shook his head. "Haven't seen them. But you could try Malark and Guarnere. They're in the back of a truck back that way." He pointed behind him and Jules could see the truck he spoke of, purely because Bill had stuck his head out from underneath the canvas covering, presumably to get some air.

"Lovely, thank you!"

Jules practically skipped past him on her way to the truck, but turned at the last second. "Oh!" she exclaimed as though just remembering something. "By the way, I'm glad you're alive."

Liebgott rolled his eyes, but he had a telltale smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, me too."

Jules placed her hands on her hips expectantly. "You know, the polite thing to do would be to say it back." She grinned when he scoffed.

"Not while you're dressed like a kraut."

"I'm not stripping for you, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh my God, just go find your friends!"

Jules giggled brightly and patted Liebgott twice on the shoulder before turning and heading towards the truck once more.

Once she'd gotten there, she lifted the canvas sheet with a grin. "Knock knock."

"Well look who finally decided to show up," Thomas drawled.

"Would've gotten here sooner if I'd known where the bloody hell you went."

"Doll, are you comin' in or not?" Bill asked exasperatedly.

Jules accepted his hand and he tugged her up into the truck. When she had sat down she smiled at her American companions. "Never thought I'd be so glad to see you yankee buggers. I'm glad you're all alive."

Various short laughs and responses were echoed back to her before Toye leaned closer to the fire to see her better in the light. "Is that a fuckin' kraut uniform?"

Jules chuckled. "If I had a penny for every time I've been asked that today..."

"Well why the hell are you wearing it?!" Malarkey asked through a laugh.

"Because their uniforms are nicer than yours - Kidding! I'm kidding! God, you're all awfully grouchy today. I needed it for something and Tom told me to keep it in case it comes in handy. I'm still wearing my ODs underneath, which has been nothing but a nightmare because I've been sweating all day."

"Lovely."

"Just being honest." Then she plucked the field cap from her belt and held it up proudly. "I got the hat, too!"

Various hands grasped at it and she held it out of their reach. "Hey! I don't have a helmet so I get this instead!"

Tom's face fell. "You lost your bloody helmet _again_?"

She smiled sheepishly. "'Lost'. Interesting word that. I'm not sure I'd say I 'lost' it. Leaving it behind, however, was a tactical decision to ensure I wasn't spotted. I crawled for about two miles."

"That explains the dirt," Lipton commented. She shrugged.

Then, all of a sudden, something dawned on her. "Hey, is this everyone, by the way? I saw Joe outside - Liebgott, that is - but has no one else turned up yet?"

Each of the Americans looked to each other, their expressions suddenly sobered. Eventually, it was Buck Compton, one of the company's lieutenants, who answered her.

"There are a few others but numbers are still low."

Jules shared a quick look with Tom before looking back to Buck. "Has Gene shown up yet?" When no one said anything her eyebrows crashed down. "George? Floyd? Skip?"

She looked to Malarkey in particular, who was good friends with Skip. He met her eyes for a brief moment before looking away. "No. None of them yet."

"Oh." Her heart suddenly felt a whole lot heavier, and her stomach a lot less hungry. She didn't much feel like eating anymore, even though she had been told by Thomas to eat as soon as she'd found Nixon.

"I'm sure they'll show up," Lipton offered with a reassuring smile. Each of them nodded, and even though they eventually fell back into easy conversation it was a lot less jovial now.

Jules thought hard on her friends who weren't present, and prayed that they were okay. To be wandering around Normandy in the dark was less than ideal, and she kept her fingers crossed that they'd show up throughout the night. But her stomach was in knots every time a break in the conversation let her mind wander to them.

Did Gene even have a gun? She wasn't sure. She hoped so badly that he had managed to find someone else.

Eventually, they all began to filter out of the truck to find somewhere to sleep. Tom and Jules left to find Will and Martin, and came upon them eating together on the doorstep of a house. They told them that the living room of it was still relatively intact, and thus the four of them devised to spend the night there.

As Jules lay on the sofa, staring up into the partially collapsed ceiling, she tried desperately not to think of her friends who hadn't shown up yet, but every time she let her mind wander they were all she could seem to think about. She felt almost sick with worry, though that was perhaps the fact that she hadn't eaten since before they'd left England. She hardly thought she'd be able to stomach anything anyway.

She resolved to shut her eyes and try to get some rest after about an hour straight of worrying. She had already tasted coppery blood in her mouth where she'd bitten into her bottom lip so hard, and figured sleep would be a better pastime. Her fingers fiddled rapidly with the hem of her German jacket, and suddenly she was incredibly glad for the extra layers in the chill of the night air. She let out a quiet sigh as she let the darkness encompass her.

Even though she was worried about her friends, and wary of what tomorrow would bring, and incredibly hungry, and so, so tired, she finally felt a small pit of warmth bubble up in her stomach. It was only a tiny flicker of a flame, but it was enough to put her mind at rest, even momentarily. She'd made it through D-Day, and so had her boys. That, at least, was something she had to be incredibly grateful for.


	10. Something at Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand." - Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

When Juliette woke it was just her and Thomas left in the living room of the small, largely destroyed house. Tom was still asleep, and she didn't try to wake him, but she looked to where Martin and Will had been previously and found their things still there. She thought they'd probably gone out to look for food.

Even though she hadn't eaten anything since England, the thought of food made her feel queasy. Her worries from the previous night came flooding back to her, and subconsciously she glanced out of the smashed window as if hoping to catch sight of all of her friends who hadn't shown up yet. She chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought.

She must have been sitting there, thinking, for about half an hour before Tom woke. She didn't notice at first, still worrying at her lip and thinking hard on what might have happened to the currently-MIA paratroopers. When Tom spoke up she jumped.

"You're worried about him."

Jules whipped her head to face him, a hand coming up to press against her pounding heart. When her eyes locked onto his, she sighed, a sheepish smile coming to rest on her lips. "He's probably fine, right?"

Tom grinned rakishly. "So you knew who I meant, then?"

"That means nothing!" She had flushed at his suggestion and was shaking her head adamantly.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Jules, you don't have to pretend in front of me. Okay? We tell each other everything."

She sighed. "It's not like that. It's just - It's not -" She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "I don't."

"You don't what?"

"I don't feel that way for Gene."

Tom scoffed. "Sure you don't."

"I don't! And you don't know the whole story."

"Tell me, then," he said with a quirk of his eyebrows. "Because your mouth is saying one thing but every interaction I've ever seen you have with him says another. Don't think I didn't see the sleeve rolling."

At this revelation, she flushed positively crimson. "I - no, it's - it's because of -"

"Alex," he finished for her with a small sigh.

"How did you..?"

Tom sat up properly from his position on the floor and ran a hand through messy blond hair. He glanced out of the front window of the room for a moment before turning back to her. "He told you, didn't he?" When she didn't answer, he added, "That he loved you."

Juliette sucked in a harsh breath. "How did you know that?"

Thomas laughed quietly. "Jules, everyone knew that."

"He told you all before he told me?!" Now _that_ was something she hadn't expected of Alex.

"No," Tom told her carefully, watching her every reaction to his words. "He never told any of us. But it was _so_ clear: why he was always so hard on you, why he never let you go in alone... You know, he used to always ask me about you. All the time. He never wanted to push you into telling him anything but he knew you spoke to me, so he'd ask me if you were okay basically all the time."

She had to look away. Her hands clenched and unclenched themselves in her lap. "I never knew."

"I know you didn't. But that's not your fault. He just..." Tom shook his head, watching Jules closely even though her eyes were averted. "He never knew how much he scared you."

Her eyes shot back to him. "He didn't -"

"He did," Tom cut her off. She sighed, because it was true. She hadn't realised he'd noticed. She thought it had likely stemmed from a desire to please, but somewhere along the line she had definitely started to fear Alex a little bit. Coming back from every mission, at some point, had become almost as frightening as the mission itself, because she never knew how he would react to hearing her report.

"And that's not something to be ashamed about," Tom added reassuringly. "But he did."

He appeared to battle with himself about whether to say what he was thinking, before letting out a sigh and resolving to say it anyway. "You two likely wouldn't have worked out together for that exact reason, so don't let it get in the way."

"God, it'd be a bloody rotten bit of luck, wouldn't it?" Jules said, without entirely realising she'd spoken. The thought had just popped into her mind, and it was so horrible she couldn't bear to keep it in. "First Noah, then Alex, and now Gene..."

Thomas sighed and stood up, sitting next to her on the sofa. "It's not your fault, Jules," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "He's gonna turn up, I know it. But it's not your fault."

The pair of them looked up when they heard the distinctive sound of boots crunching through gravel, and watched as Martin crawled in through the window and Will entered through the destroyed front door. Both of them were grinning.

"Morning," Tom greeted them with a confused smile. He shared a look with Jules, who shrugged. 

"Some of the others turned up during the night," Will said, and he was positively beaming. "They're outside if you wanted to -"

Tom and Jules were on their feet and out of the door in seconds.

"- see them," Will finished redundantly, watching them leave. When they'd gone, he turned to Martin with a grin. "Was it something I said?"

The small area the American army had claimed was a hub of activity as paratroopers continued to filter back into their companies. Jules followed Tom until he stopped abruptly, and when she peered around him a large smile bloomed on her face.

"Skip and Penkala!" Jules called out. She ran over and gave both of them hugs, glad beyond words to see them both still alive and well.

"Did you two get left behind in England or something?" Tom teased as he approached.

"Left my favourite pair of socks back in Aldbourne," Skip replied easily. "Couldn't jump without 'em."

"Hey, either of you know if Malark's here yet?" Penkala asked, looking between Jules and Tom.

Jules' smile widened. "He came in yesterday. Oh, he's going to be so pleased to see you! I don't know where he is right now, but he'll be around here somewhere."

Tom nodded and gestured behind him. "He was over there last night, so maybe start there?"

When Skip and Penkala looked in that general direction, each of them began to smile. "Hey! Luz!" Skip called. Jules whirled around and grinned when she saw him, too.

"George!"

"Hey! Fancy seein' you guys here!" George drawled as he approached. How he could appear so laid back even after a full day and night of traipsing through Normandy without knowing where he was going, Jules had no idea.

When he got close enough, she hugged him, too, feeling so much warmth flood her at the arrival of three of her friends.

When she pulled back, George looked her up and down and whistled lowly. "You know, Jules, kraut ain't really your colour."

Juliette rolled her eyes with a grin, but Skip guffawed. "How the hell did I not notice that? Why are you dressed like a kraut?"

"Convenience," she told him with a smug smirk, and offered up nothing else.

"She got the hat, too," Tom told them. He ripped the field cap from her belt and wielded it proudly.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. She quickly took it back and put it on, shooting Tom a quick glare. "Finders keepers."

Tom laughed. "You didn't really find it, though."

"I found the soldier who was wearing it. That counts."

"Hey, let me see it," George said, and plucked it off of her head in one slick movement.

Jules pouted. "Why's everyone after my hat?"

"I swear, everyone's got a souvenir except me," George complained, frowning when she took it back. "Have you seen what Lieb's got?"

"A luger?" Penkala suggested with wide eyes.

"Try a full Nazi flag," George replied, nodding at the gaping expressions on both Skip and Penkala's faces.

"Jammy bugger," Tom said.

"Well, I think you've got him beaten, Jules," Skip said, gesturing to her uniform. "You got the full damn kit."

"Have _you_ got a luger?" Penkala asked eagerly.

Jules laughed. "I had one at one point, but I left it behind."

All three Americans guffawed. "What?! Why?!"

"I've already got a gun," she told them as though it should be obvious. "Plus, the luger doesn't have a silencer."

"And they're right ugly," Tom added. She nodded her agreement.

All three Americans expressed their disapproval at leaving the German weapon behind, though Malarkey soon made an appearance which had them going their separate ways.

Tom turned to Juliette once it was just the two of them again. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

"Um..." she tried desperately to come up with a feasible lie.

"England?" he asked.

She sighed. "England."

After shooting her a pointed look, Thomas led her across the makeshift camp in search of food, lecturing her all the while on the dangers of malnutrition.

"Jules, are you listening to me?" he demanded about halfway through his monologue.

Juliette jolted in place and whipped her head to face him. "Yes."

He rolled his eyes, not believing her in the slightest. "Good." He went on speaking anyway, pausing only when he found someone to ask about rations. Eventually, he began to grow frustrated, "God, just _what_ do you need to do to find some food around here?"

"Be American, perhaps," Jules suggested with a slight grin. She was growing tired, however, and feeling a bit faint. She was still incredibly anxious about those who hadn't shown up yet, but her stomach was feeling queasier by the second, and she thought this probably had more to do with how hungry she was than it did to do with her nerves.

Thomas noticed, and sighed. "You sit here. I'll go find some food and bring it back, okay?"

"I'm okay -" she went to insist, but he cut her off.

"Juliette."

"Fine." Whenever he used her full name she knew not to argue.

Jules sat on a small brick wall and rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, contenting herself with watching the world go by. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to ignore the gnawing of the hunger pains, and eventually wrapped her other arm over her stomach to try and dull the ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it might help to pass the time. She didn't know how long she'd been like that before she heard Thomas' voice once more.

"Jules!"

When she looked up, her jaw fell open. "Gene," she whispered to herself, as though in a daze. Suddenly, her eyes brightened, and a beaming smile broke out onto her face. "Gene!"

She leapt to her feet and bounded over to him, but her step faltered when she remembered the conversation she'd had with Thomas that morning. Instead of barrelling into his arms, when she got close enough she merely grabbed ahold of both of his hands, still wearing that smile like the sun, and bounced a bit in her place. "You're okay!" she cheered.

A smile tugged at his lips before he looked her over. Instead of the question about the kraut uniform she was expecting, however, he asked, "Are you hurt?"

Juliette shook her head, her smile softening. "No. Just happy to see you."

As Gene smiled back down at her - that rare, special, earnest smile - she sucked in a breath and shook her head once to herself. Juliette threw her arms around his neck. Life was too short.

Conscious of Tom's lingering presence, Jules pulled back rather soon. She ducked under Gene's gaze, trying to hide her blush. She had no idea why she didn't know how to act around him all of a sudden, and mentally scolded herself to pull herself together.

"How'd you end up in this?" Gene asked, gesturing to her uniform.

Juliette shook her head with a small laugh. "Long story. Look, I got the hat too!" With a flourish, she pulled the German field cap out of her belt and showed it to him.

The medic laughed to himself, and took it from her outstretched hands. Jules watched as he turned it over in his hands, her eyes flicking up to his face and watching his expression closely until he looked back up at her and offered the hat back.

"It's highly coveted," she told him matter-of-factly as she put it back into her belt. "Have you got a souvenir? The boys are trading, I think."

Gene shook his head. "No, I, uh, wasn't really lookin'."

Jules nodded and watched his face as he glanced around them. When he looked back down at her, she looked away. Thomas raised his eyebrows at her and she blushed.

"Well, now that we've had our fun I think it's time we ate something," Tom announced, coming to her rescue. As he came to stand beside her, he sent Gene a nod. "Glad to see you, Eugene."

The American nodded back at him, glancing once at Jules before looking back at him. "Yeah, you too."

When Gene left, Thomas turned to her. "Why have you suddenly lost all your game?"

"Because I didn't realise I was being obvious before! But if you noticed, then -"

"I'm your best friend. It's my job to notice," he countered.

Jules sighed. "I don't want to have this conversation. And I really am feeling quite unwell."

Tom nodded, immediately jumping into action. "Right. On me. I found us some food."

As Tom led her back in the direction from which he had come, Juliette glanced behind her, watching for a few moments as Gene retreated. She smiled to herself, her shoulders slumping with relief, and turned back to the front much more at ease. Whatever she would be doing next, at least most of her favourite yanks were okay.


	11. No Talent for Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I have no talent for certainty." - Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Juliette, Thomas, and Martin waited patiently from where they were gathered around Will, watching as he wrote out the morse code transmitted to him. Even though it was all written in a mixture of shorthand and code, it was a few minutes of tense, concentrated silence.

As soon as he had finished, Will handed the slip of paper he'd been writing on to Tom. Juliette watched him closely to gauge his reaction to their new set of orders.

When Thomas looked up, he shrugged. "Blowing up train tracks," he said simply. Everyone's shoulders seemed to fall simultaneously. That was easy enough.

"Where abouts?" Jules inquired.

"The paratroopers are being sent to take the town of Carentan, and there's a train line just west of there. We'll blow up the tracks a couple of miles down so that the Germans don't stage a counteroffensive."

"What about radio signals?" Will asked, but Tom shook his head.

"The yanks'll need signal, too, to keep in contact with intelligence. All we have to do is blow the tracks."

"Did they give a time?"

"1530."

"We'd best be off then," said Martin after glancing down at his watch.

Thomas pulled out a map of Normandy and laid it out on the table for them all to see. He traced a route with his finger from where they currently were to where the train tracks were. After making sure everyone understood where they were going, he nodded and straightened up.

"Right, let's go then. We're burning daylight waiting around here."

Jules nodded and stepped forwards as though to follow him out of the door. Suddenly, however, he shook his head. "Jules, lose the Boche uniform. You won't need it."

She sighed out her relief and stripped off the belt and jacket immediately, muttering a 'thank God' to herself. After she was free of the German uniform she tucked it behind the sofa she'd spent the night on, but she kept the field cap in her pocket as a sort of souvenir. She had become rather fond of it, morbid as that was.

The four of them trekked through the makeshift camp relatively uninterrupted - the Americans were all being hustled together to be informed of what they were to be doing next. They walked through fields for what seemed like hours - and, really, probably was - stopping every now and then to check the compass against the map considering there was little in the way of distinctive landmarks. When, eventually, they came upon the tracks, they were five minutes early.

Juliette and Martin stood guard, guns aimed and ready as they scoured the surrounding areas for enemy activity. Out here, they were completely out in the open, and even crouching in the long grass there would be little to do if a company of Germans stumbled upon them. She supposed that was why they had been given a specific time.

The train tracks were set on top of a hill, the incline steepening the further along you walked until the tracks continued over nothing but their metal support structure, the ground giving way to a large drop and a body of water below. Thomas and William were set to detonate the bomb, and Juliette went up and over just before them to stand sentry on the other side of the hill.

"1530," she heard Martin call out roughly five minutes later. She heard rather than saw Tom and Will climb their way up onto the tracks and talk quietly between themselves as they set to work setting up the explosive.

Only a small while later, however, she heard Will let out a frustrated sigh. "These tracks are... they're archaic. I don't think the bomb's gonna be strong enough to blow them."

She heard Thomas swear. "What can we do?"

Will glanced around him for a moment, looking both ways down the tracks, before he nodded to himself. "If we set it off where there's no ground beneath them, it should work. The full force of the blast will be concentrated on the tracks. I think that'd work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It'll work. I'm sure of it."

Tom ran a hand through his hair and nodded to himself, as though just having given himself a mental pep talk. "Right. You go back down with Martin. I'll set it off."

"What? No!"

"It'll be more difficult for two people to get away in time -"

"And I'm the explosives expert -"

"Go down with Martin, Will. That's a direct order."

Jules glanced back briefly at the authority in Tom's voice, even though she knew she couldn't see them from where she stood. But Tom had never used the CO card against them before. She was more than a little bit surprised.

Juliette kept her eyes on the trees opposite her, scouring the horizon for any sign of approaching Germans. When Tom had set the bomb, he shouted, "Fire in the hole!"

Jules ducked, as standard precaution, and tried to keep watch as best she could from her crouched position. Even from her distance she felt the heat of the flames wash over her face. The orange of the blast was bright in her peripheral vision, but she dared not glance away from the trees until she was certain that Tom was back on the other side of the hill.

"Tom?" Will called out once the blast had settled.

Jules' head shot up, abandoning her post momentarily. Hadn't he joined Will and Martin on the other side?

A pit of dread opened up in her stomach. The hill was too steep to see what was going on on the tracks above, and the remnants of the explosion concealed the area of the tracks Tom had blown up. But she couldn't leave her post to check. Will would have to leave Martin to find Thomas; she couldn't leave them vulnerable to an ambush.

"What's going on? Is he okay?" Jules called up, hoping Will would hear her.

She didn't get a reply, until Will shouted, "Tom!"

"Shit!" Martin shouted.

"Oh, God. What is it?!" Jules yelled, keeping her gun aimed forwards but trying desperately to see up onto the tracks behind her. Her heart felt like it was slamming against the walls of her throat. "Is he okay?! Is he hurt?!"

_Don't say he's dead. Don't say he's dead. Don't say he's dead._

"Shrapnel!" Will finally called back. "He's been hit with shrapnel!"

Throwing caution to the wind, this time Jules did abandon her post. She kept the gun in her hands and its safety clicked off, but crested the hill as fast as she could. She came upon Martin and Will attempting to drag Tom along with them.

"Oh, Tom," she moaned, eyes going straight for the piece of wood jutting out of his side and oozing blood onto his ODs. "Oh, God."

Jules backed herself down the other side of the hill and took ahold of Tom's legs, helping to lower him down it whilst Will and Martin still had hold of his arms. She tried desperately to stop herself from shaking. They just needed to get him to a medic, and there were plenty of those in Normandy.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, Jules lowered his legs to the floor and led the others back the way they'd come. There was no time for compasses or maps, now. She just had to trust herself. The urge to look back and check on Tom was overwhelming, and she caught herself doing it a few times before quickly turning her eyes back to the front, keeping her gun up and aimed; looking back at him would only slow them down.

"You're gonna be okay, Tom, we're nearly there," she called back to him. She turned this way and that until she caught sight of a road sign that pointed to 'Carentan' and all but whooped with joy. "Nearly there, Tom. You're doing so well."

"I'm not a toddler," he groaned out from behind her. She couldn't even muster a laugh. His voice had emerged strangled and strained.

At the last second, a horrible thought dawned on her. What if the yanks hadn't taken Carentan? What if they were walking into the middle of a battlefield? Worse, what if they were walking into a herd of Germans?

Jules glanced backwards quickly and Martin seemed to read her mind. "No time," he told her sternly. "Keep going."

"I'm going to see."

She ran ahead of them into the town, suddenly wishing she still had her German uniform on. This was exactly the type of situation it would have come in handy in. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

When she caught sight of Americans milling about, she wasted no breath. "Medic!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, whirling around to run back to Tom and the others. She shoved her gun into a pocket and grabbed onto Tom's legs, beginning to run backwards to get him in faster. "Medic!"

Gene came running almost immediately. "In here!" he ordered once he'd seen the damage. They hurried into the makeshift aid station without wasting any time and laid him on a table.

"Morphine?" Gene called to them as he ripped open Tom's ODs.

"No. Nothing," Will replied quickly. He clasped his hands together and pressed them against his lips. He was trying so hard not to cry. "Is it bad?"

"He'll be fine," Martin told him sternly. Gene didn't look up.

"Oh, God," Jules was muttering to herself, repeating it over and over like a mantra. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She looked from Martin and Will to Tom and Gene, and suppressed a cry. "This is just like what happened with -"

"No it isn't," Martin cut her off before she could even say his name. "He's fine, Jules, he's gonna be fine." He left no room for argument.

Juliette chewed on her bottom lip, eyes filling up with tears as she tried to glance around Gene to see what was happening.

"Jules -" Tom called out. She was at his side in an instant.

"I'm here," she told him, taking ahold of his hand. "I'm right here with you. You're okay."

"Don't leave me," Tom whispered. She felt her heart shatter.

"I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm staying right here with you."

Tom tried to nod. "You and me, yeah?"

"Me and you," she replied, pursing her lips tightly so she didn't sob. She daren't look down to see what Gene was doing. Her periphery was stained red.

Juliette raised Tom's hand and pressed it to her lips, shutting her eyes tightly against the tears. "You're gonna be okay, Tom," she kept repeating, and wondered whether she was doing it more for him or herself. Everything was a blur.

It could have been five seconds or it could have been five minutes and Jules wouldn't have known any better. She saw Gene step back in her periphery and stilled. She didn't look up.

"He's gonna be okay," Gene told her.

Jules all but sobbed out her relief, falling to her knees and resting her forehead against Tom's shoulder. "Oh my God," she muttered, her voice thick with tears. "Oh my God."

"You're one lucky bastard, Tom," Martin said as he approached the table. Juliette still didn't lift her head, but she felt Tom stroke her hair.

Tom chuckled. "Can't get rid of me that easily." He looked to Gene and smiled genuinely. "Thank you."

Gene nodded, looked down at his hands, and suppressed a small smile. He glanced back at Jules once more before turning and tending to a soldier he'd been bandaging up before he'd been called out. When Juliette finally looked up, Tom looked pale, but he was alive.

"Don't ever scare me like that again!" she scolded him, sniffling and trying to get herself back under control. The relief was so heavy it felt a little bit like drowning. It was overwhelming.

Thomas tried to shrug before wincing. "No promises."

"That's not funny," she told him, but she was smiling a little bit.


	12. Of Sinners, Of Sufferers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also." - Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

It wasn't until much later on in the day, until it was almost night, that Juliette spoke to Gene. Her, Tom, Will, and Martin had moved with the paratroopers as they traipsed through Normandy to cover more of the front line. Until they received orders, there was nothing else to do, and Tom needed to stay close to the medics. He couldn't be evacuated with the rest of the casualties because he couldn't risk being sent to a field hospital; the likelihood was that he would have a plane sent for him and be sent back to HQ to recover. It would be a difficult loss, but at least only a temporary one. He had left Juliette in charge in his place, which was terrifying.

Jules only sought Gene out when she was certain all of the injured had left and he would be off-duty, per se - as off-duty as one could get whilst on the front line, that is. He looked exhausted, and likely felt it, too, for the casualties after D-Day had been expansive, and now there was this as well.

He was sat with his knees pulled close to his chest and his back against a tree when she came upon him. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.

"Hi," she said quietly. She found herself bashful, and almost trying to shrink under his gaze. She looked away so quickly she didn't see his small smile.

"Hi."

When she looked back at him she had begun fiddling with the hat tucked into one of her pockets. "Need some company?"

He chuckled a little bit. "Sure." So she sat beside him, quietly at first, thinking hard on what she wanted to say.

Eventually, she turned to him. "Thank you for earlier. My thanks aren't really enough but my hands are empty. So thank you. Really."

He nodded. "S'alright. 'M glad he's okay."

Jules nodded as well. "Yeah, me too. We're still waiting on orders but the chances are he'll be taken back to England, the jammy bugger." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. "He's leaving me in charge until he comes back."

"Yeah?" Gene asked, watching her closely as she avoided his gaze.

"Yeah." She smiled with a sort of regretful irony. "Terrible idea, if you ask me. He should've left Martin in charge - and, incidentally, Martin thinks so too. But undercover specialists are always the ones who get promoted."

"That's what you are?" Gene asked. When she turned to look at him his jaw was hanging just slightly open, and the hint of a smile wanted to wrench it wide. "An undercover specialist?"

Jules laughed lightly. She guessed she never really had told him that. "Yeah. Everyone has a different speciality and a different role. I'm the undercover specialist, so I'm the one who goes in on all the missions, sometimes alone and sometimes with backup." Gene nodded to show he was following what she was saying. "Tom is obviously our CO - he used to be an undercover specialist, too; we trained together, but when we came back to Aldbourne he got promoted. Martin does weapons and hand-to-hand combat - if anyone's going to be my backup it's generally him, set up as a sniper or whatever else. And Will does all of our technology; he's wicked clever, transmits morse code at like a hundred words per minute or something stupid, and can turn literally anything into an explosive. You'd never know from talking to him, because he has literally zero common sense, but he's so bloody smart you wouldn't believe it."

"Why'd Tom get promoted?" He asked it with genuine curiosity, just sincerely unaware. Juliette froze. That was very much still an open wound, especially after what had happened earlier.

"Our last CO," she began, willing her voice not to shake. It did anyway. "He was KIA about a week before we came back to England."

"Oh."

Jules smiled sadly, eyes trained on the floor where her fingers were scraping at the mud absentmindedly. "His name is Alex. Alexis, actually, but he always let us call him Alex even though he'd never call anyone else by a nickname." She paused, overcome with nostalgia. "Once, though, he called me 'Jules'. Only once, and he hadn't even realised he'd done it. I thought that was really special. I'm not sure if it is, but I like to think so. He took his job as CO seriously so I think he didn't like to call us by nicknames because it would make him get too close, cloud his judgement or whatever." It was only then that she realised this was much like the tactic Gene used in not getting too close to the other men. A very sad realisation. "I like to think that for that moment, though, when he called me 'Jules', that he had his guard down. I obviously don't know whether he did it with any of the others at any point but I like to think that that was just for me. I don't know if that's silly, but I do."

When she risked a glance up at Gene he was smiling, already looking back at her. There was something sad in his gaze, as there often was when he looked at her, but not necessarily pitying or sympathetic. Just kind of sad. "What was he like?"

"Alex was..." She paused, turning away and smiling softly to herself. "He was just the best. At everything. He was the best at his job, and he was so, _so_ dedicated to it, too. He was the best at reassuring people. And he was so loyal. Fiercely loyal. I always thought that was his best trait."

She sucked in a deep breath and risked a glance up at him. "You know, when we were gone we spent some time in Paris, and when we were in Paris we were in this safe house. And there were these wanted posters that kept showing up around the city, and this one day there was one of Tom. And everyone was just kind of really... sad, I suppose. And tired. Really, really tired.

"So I asked everyone if they could go anywhere in the world at that moment, where would they go?" She paused, letting a small smile draw up her lips as she recalled it. She could still remember it so vividly. "Alex answered last, and he said he wouldn't go anywhere. That he would want to stay right there in Paris with us. And he didn't say anything else, but he wouldn't look at me and he avoided me for the rest of the day, and I had the feeling he had just discovered something about himself, some deep secret or something.

"So later in the day I sought him out to ask what was wrong. And..." She laughed ruefully. "And he kissed me. And I was so shocked, because I'd had no idea he'd felt for me like that, and he looked mortified. But I hugged him, because that was the best I could offer him at that moment, and I thought that maybe there was a chance I could feel for him like that, too.

"The next day we went out on a mission that turned into a complete disaster, and as we were leaving Alex pushed me behind him, and he got shot by a bullet that was meant for me." She couldn't bear to look at Gene now. The admission was too awful. "And I hate myself for it. So much. Because regardless of how you phrase it, he died saving me. And that's my fault."

She paused, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. Then she shrugged, smiling ruefully with her eyes trained on the dirt. "I suppose that makes me a coward. That, and the fact that I can't bear to tell the others. Because even though I deserve it, I would die to see them blame me. I wouldn't be able to take it. God, it's so, _so_ wretched. I don't blame you if you want to go."

Gene watched her carefully, a frown on his lips. "It's not your fault, chérie."

Juliette didn't say anything, but his words made her face scrunch up, and she had to try so hard not to cry.

She didn't speak for a long while, and didn't move even when he placed a hand on her back and drew her close until she leaned into him. But she felt so horrible for seeking comfort then. And she felt so horrible for having decided that she thought she could love Alex, and then forgetting it as soon as she saw Gene again. Surely he deserved more than that. She had been with him at the end, and he had spent his last words and last breaths in trying to comfort her. _Her._ Even though it was him who was dying.

Finally, abruptly, she sat up. She wiped furiously at her eyes and jumped to her feet. She didn't look back down at Gene.

"I'm sorry," she said, more into the darkness than to him. "Thank you. For everything. For saving Tom and for being there and for not leaving and - ugh, bloody hell, just for everything. I don't deserve you and I'm sorry."

And then she left. Just went off to find the others as though nothing had ever happened. Went off to sit beside Thomas and hold his hand and pretend that everything was fine even though it wasn't, because he was the one who was in pain and he was the one who had almost died earlier and _God_ he did not need to be spending his energy in worrying about her right now.

Juliette went to sleep that night feeling like the most terrible burden. How anyone ever put up with her she genuinely had no idea. She didn't deserve Gene's unfaltering kindness or Tom's friendship or Martin's support or Will's gentle words. And she hadn't deserved Alex. Not once had she done for him even half of what he'd done for her. She'd taken his care and his concern and his affection and thrown it back in his face without even realising it by being afraid of him. Why had she ever been afraid of him? All he had ever done was love her. She could see it so clearly now.

What a truly rotten soul she thought she had. She thought she was rotten to the core. And, as always, she thought she had so many problems. And maybe, at the time, she did; emotional turmoil is perhaps a matter of perspective. She hadn't known then what I know now, and I can't hold her accountable for not knowing what lay in her future. What _lays_ in her future. But I can't help but resent that girl just a little bit for thinking she was so wretched when she was actually just kind. I'd give anything to be that girl again. Now all I am is a coward. And a snitch.


	13. This Heart Within Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Since then, at an uncertain hour,  
> That agony returns:  
> And till my ghastly tale is told,  
> This heart within me burns."  
> \- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The hauptsturmführer is not impressed that I repeated so much information the last time I wrote. I have already told them about Alex and retelling it through dialogue was a stupid way to try to bide my time, I admit, but it really did happen that way. I really did just spill it all out to Gene in a field somewhere in Normandy. Thinking about it, we always seemed to be talking in fields.

The hauptsturmführer has slammed my head against one of the brick walls of my cell so hard I am damn near unconscious. My brain feels like it has turned to jelly. If he does it again I feel certain I'll get brain damage. I think he does, too, because he stands back from my feeble, crumpled body and doesn't move to do it again. A brain-damaged prisoner is one who can't confess, and I haven't finished my story yet.

I'm almost certain now that Tom is his favourite of the cast of characters I've crafted for him in my confessions. He looked terribly sad when he read about what happened on the bridge. I do think sometimes he forgets that what I write is real, that it is a comprehensive retelling of my life and that I know each and every one of those people. Well, knew. He drinks in the words like a novel and I never knew my life was so interesting. At least he likes Tom, though. Everyone does, really.

I try to write each person as accurately as I can remember them, every mannerism and quirk and tick I can remember, and I try to transcribe every conversation exactly as I remember it. Memory fails every now and then, for some of these conversations took place a long time ago, or rather, it feels that way, but I think I'm getting them decently accurate. I hope so, anyway. More for myself than the hauptsturmführer. I couldn't care less whether he gets the real story or not, but I want to write it correctly for myself. A sort of ode to my useless, wretched life.

I don't know when they'll kill me. I've stopped wondering. They have sent the French girl in the cell next to me away. There is a boy there, now - maybe a man, but he sounds quite young when he screams. The French girl, it turned out, had been a spy for the British - French-born, like me, and she used to work in the Maquis, so I got that right at least. They have sent her away to some sort of camp the guards call a 'KZ' - Konzentrationslager. It means concentration camp, though I'm not sure what that is. I know they'll do medical experiments on her there until she dies. I think if there is one thing in the world I fear more than Hauptsturmführer Becker it is a KZ. I fear that worse than the carbolic acid, now. And it's sickening how nonchalantly the guards discuss it - openly, and in front of me, even though they know I understand German. They aren't supposed to do it, but I think they get a kick out of my pure, unadulterated, icy terror. I cower in the corner like a kicked animal when they talk about what has happened to some of the other prisoners, and they laugh every time.

Sickening human beings. Sickening. I am a bad person but they are pure evil.

I spend my days in fits of paranoia. I constantly toe the line between anxiety and panic. I hear the sound of my cell door opening in my dreams and shoot upright, only to find it still firmly shut and locked. I'm glad the guards aren't in here when I sleep, not only because I don't trust them but because I know they would laugh at me for it.

I wish I could be brave like Thomas, or strong like Martin, or really bloody wicked clever like Will. What did I even contribute to the team? Being pretty? Fucking Jesus Christ have I paid the ultimate price for being pretty. Rotten thing, to be pretty. You always pay for it in the end.

I bet the French girl next door was pretty. Claudette had been - the French/British spy I killed when she didn't use her cyanide. I felt sick with guilt for doing it at the time, but now I consider it one of the single most angelic things I have ever done. I like to think she may be looking down on me and thanking me for it now. Funny how life works. Rotten how life works.

The woman we rescued from the interrogation centre in Bordeaux had been pretty, too. They had destroyed her, like they have me, but she didn't have the scars to show for it. They did a right psychological number on her, and I still haven't worked out how they cracked her so quickly. I lasted about three weeks before I began to confess.

I'm a snitch. I am such a dirty little snitch. Wretched. Wretched. Wretched. That's why I haven't been rescued. I don't deserve it. I always did the rescuing and now I'm here alone. God damn it, I was caught trying to break someone out. I feel so terribly sorry for whoever that person was - I never even found out their name. I wonder if they're still in here somewhere, too. I hope they're not still waiting for their hero.

I wonder if it was the French girl. Even thinking that turns my blood to ice in my veins. I never met her, I never even saw her, but I feel like I know her deeply. We have screamed in agony at the same time on a few occasions, and that felt like companionship. That felt like camaraderie. I hope that that girl escaped, somehow. Maybe Tom and the others got her out. Yes, that's a nice thought. I choose to think that. That poor French girl was rescued from whatever transport they put her in and is now with my boys and they're keeping her safe, probably because they see a lot of me in her.

I wonder what they think has happened to me. I wonder if they know I'm still alive. Does Gene know I'm still alive? I really hope he doesn't. God, how I miss those fucking yanks. Talking about the girls George Luz fancies, and the boys he thinks I do, and how the hell I managed to be so good at drinking competitions. One of these days, I think, they'll forget to dilute the carbolic acid and I'll down the lot of it just like I used to do with those pints of beer and it'll have killed me before they even know what's hit them. That's a dream of mine, now. Rather sad, really, but it's true.

I always knew I wouldn't get a life beyond the war but I really, really didn't think this would happen to me. It has been my biggest fear for a long time, but it also just didn't seem like the kind of thing that would happen to me. Not necessarily because of a superiority complex or anything, I guess I was just hopeful. A bullet through the temple, I'd always imagined, and I'd be out like a light. Quicker than falling asleep. And I'd go before all of the others so I wouldn't have to watch them die. What a dream that would have been. What a fantasy.

I'm making myself sad now. I know they won't ever forget to dilute the acid but it kind of makes me fear it a little bit less. Actually, that's a bare-faced lie. I am still terrified of the carbolic acid. Didn't even know what it was before I came here and now it haunts my nightmares. I know how it tastes, I know how it smells, and I know how it burns. Carbolic acid and I are now very intimately acquainted. Fucking rotten, that is.

I really am trying not to swear. Even mentally, because I always feel a bit guilty about it afterwards. My mum always hated swearing, even though my papa did it a lot. But 'fucking' is such an empowering word to use, and there really is no other word harsh enough. But I never swore before this, unless it was really necessary, so I will dutifully try to stop. I'm keeping 'bloody' though. Sorry, mum, but you'll have to pry that one from my cold, dead hands.

Oh, fuck. Shit, didn't mean to swear again. But that is a bloody horrible thought. I will never see my mum again and I'm glad because she would hate me now but it would kill me all over again if she ever did actually see my dead body.

The hauptsturmführer has taken pity on me today, he is telling me in many, many more words than necessary. He will leave me to write some more. Told you. He likes Tom. He wants to know what happened to Tom. Wanker. Tosser. Bastard. Fucking Jerry bastard. I'm not apologising for that one. He deserves it.


	14. The Last Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul." - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Tom returned to England via a supply plane and, presumably, was sent either to HQ or just a very secret hospital. Juliette never found out, because it never came up and she never really thought to ask. All that mattered, really, was that he ended up safe and back on home turf. That was one less person to worry about.

In his wake, she was left to be the team commanding officer. Utterly terrifying. When Will had to take down their first set of morse code orders under her command she felt sick to her stomach. She would have to be the one to decide what to do with the information they were given, and how was she supposed to know she was making the right call? So many lives in her hands, and lives she cared about, too. Utterly terrifying.

Their orders told them to stick with the company of paratroopers and help them penetrate further into France, using whatever methods they saw fit. This meant generally travelling at either the front or the back of the group and taking reconnaissance or taking out telephone lines that were bound to be in use by the Germans. It was the easiest work they'd had in years, and so incredibly low-stakes it was almost unbelievable.

They travelled for multiple days, sleeping in foxholes and sending out patrols and setting up here and there and everywhere. In the entirety of that time Juliette avoided Gene like the plague. She knew it was rather horrible of her, but it hadn't been terribly hard. Really she avoided bumping into him because she didn't know what she'd say. She rather regretted what she'd said to him in that field; she had let herself be vulnerable, and she had had to square things with herself that she had tried to deny and ignore.

She had had to square with herself that she had decided she could love Alex in a romantic way, and then he'd died and she'd gone back to Aldbourne and all it took was one look at Eugene Roe and it was like Alex had never even kissed her. And that was horrible. It felt like some sort of a betrayal, and so she tried to snap herself out of it by avoiding the medic at all costs. She had managed to convince herself that maybe if she avoided him for long enough he would grow to resent her. This was a long shot, because she hardly thought that Gene had a nasty bone in his entire body, let alone either the desire or the ability to turn on a friend so easily. But she felt so incredibly horrible about what she had done to Alex that she tried it anyway, stupid though it was.

During the times that it was necessary for the team of spies to integrate into the midst of the company, she found herself gravitating most towards George Luz, who in turn could generally be found amongst the trio of Malarkey, Skip, and Penkala, or the duo of Bill and Toye. Frank Perconte was always with him regardless of who they were in the company of, and though Jules hadn't been too close to Frank in Aldbourne, she got to know him as a rather feisty and incredibly funny man through her proximity to him within their days travelling through France.

"Hey, George, what was it you said again?" Frank asked, trying desperately to recall a story from when they were training in Aldbourne. He had been explaining how him and Skinny had convinced George to impersonate one Major Horton into getting their platoon moving again after their old CO, Captain Sobel (who Juliette had never met but had been told about) had messed up the map reading on their practise manoeuvre royally.

George laughed once and tilted his chin down to begin his impersonation. "What is the goddamn hold up, Mr Sobel?!" he exclaimed through a voice much deeper and much more Southern than his own. His ability to imitate people really was uncanny.

Jules had burst into a fit of giggles, and though he had gone on to recite more lines of the great gulling she hardly heard them through her laughter. As she was laughing she misstepped and tripped, and Frank had steadied her with a roll of his eyes.

When her laughter had calmed down and they were walking in a rare, though comfortable, silence, Frank finally spoke up. "So how long can we expect to have you 'round?"

The question was, naturally, directed at Juliette, and she shrugged. "We're getting our orders in by the day, and each day they're just saying to stay with you lot until we're told otherwise. They don't say why, but I reckon now that France has been invaded and is likely soon going to be liberated entirely the Germans are trying their hardest to round up the spies who helped to take them down. I suppose hiding in amongst you lot is safer than sending us out again."

"So you don't think your orders'll change anytime soon?" George asked.

She turned to him with a quirked eyebrow and a cheeky grin. "Why? Trying to get rid of me?"

"Always," he told her, wearing as serious an expression as he could possibly muster, which wasn't really that serious.

Jules laughed and shook her head. "Orders are liable to change at any point in time. They could send us back out again tomorrow, or they could send us back to England. Not that you'd know the difference - we'd tell you we were going back to England either way, because you're not allowed to know what we're actually doing."

"I swear you try to torture us with your secrets," George commented with a roll of his eyes.

Frank chuckled to himself. "What's it like being a spy?"

"What's it like being a soldier?" she countered.

He laughed. "Exhausting."

She nodded. "Same for me."

"Can you just tell us one thing you've done? Just one, and we won't tell a soul, I swear," George begged.

She quirked an eyebrow and pretended to consider it. "What do you swear on?"

"My life."

Frank snorted. "Not sure that's important enough."

That earned him an almighty thump on the head.

Juliette rolled her eyes. "I can't tell you either way. Nice try, though."

"Just one thing. Please? No locations, no dates, no times, not even any names. Just please?"

He drove a hard bargain. And with that severe lack of detail, would it really be so bad to tell?

"What kind of 'thing' are you looking to find out about? I do a whole variety of 'things'." She watched his reaction to her words with curiosity, and laughed when his entire face lit up. Frank's face looked much the same, though a lot more surprised that George had actually seemingly managed to convince her to tell them something. To be told anything, really, was among the highest of privileges.

"Hardest thing you ever did?" George suggested.

Her face fell. "No. I'm not telling you about that one."

He sobered up, and Frank frowned. "That bad, huh?"

She nodded and didn't say anything, so George tried again. "Easiest thing, then?"

"Aside from right now?" she asked with a small laugh, because traipsing through liberated France with a bunch of paratroopers really was the easiest assignment she'd ever gotten. "Let me think." And she really did need the time to think about it. A lot of the missions blurred together either for their similarity in objective or for the emotional turmoil they caused. What was the easiest thing she'd ever done as a spy? Now there was a question that had stumped her.

And then it hit her. "Right, this wasn't the easiest, but I think it was my favourite."

"You have favourites?"

"Not really, but for all intents and purposes this is it," she replied. George nodded. "I stole intel on bombings during the Blitz, which told us the exact times and places that were due to be hit. One night in 1941 five hundred Londoners went into their bunkers thinking it was another air raid drill. Very lucky drill, that was. That was five hundred Londoners who got to see another sunrise because of something I'd done."

"Five hundred?" Frank echoed.

She nodded, unable to contain the smile. That memory was something she clung onto. "Five hundred and thirty-three."

George whistled lowly. "That sure is somethin'."

"Certainly is," she agreed.

"Do you ever get scared? When you're doin' it?" Frank wondered, shifting the gun in his hands as he turned his head to look at her properly. "Or are you used to it by now?"

Juliette shrugged. "Depends on the mission. Sometimes I get assigned things and I just know it's going to be messy, so that's always going to be scary, irregardless of how experienced I am. Most of the time I don't really. But being up close and personal with a high-ranking Nazi officer never fails to send a shiver down my spine, I'll tell you that. They all have something wicked lurking in their eyes. Something purely nasty. That scares me, sometimes."

"Were you scared for D-Day?" George wondered. He was recalling the conversation she had had with him at the airfield, when she had deliberately tried to distract him by talking about mindless things like the girls he'd gone on dates with. She hadn't seemed scared.

"No," she replied simply, because it was the truth. "If I'd have known how messy it was going to be to get to the ground I might have been, but the jump is my favourite part. It's the easiest part, in any case, and I wasn't really going undercover, so from my perspective the risk was minimal."

George shook his head suddenly, running a hand down his face. "It's so fuckin' weird talkin' to you sometimes because you're just so goddamn normal."

Jules laughed. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"You talk about what you do like it's gettin' groceries or somethin'. But you're actually a spy. A real-life fuckin' spy. They could write comic books about you and people would read 'em because they'd be interesting."

"It is pretty weird," Frank agreed, nodding. "All of you seem normal. Like Tom. We went to the pub with him about fifteen times back in Aldbourne and we never suspected a thing."

"Well, that's how you know we're good at it," Jules told them with a grin. "If you suspected us we wouldn't be very good spies, now, would we?"

They carried on walking and discussing mindless things, like why the hell they were still traipsing around Normandy when they'd been told they'd be back in Aldbourne after three days, and just what the boys planned to get up to when they got back. Juliette thought that it would be strange to go back, with the yanks knowing now what they did. They had only found out about them after they'd been locked into the airfield. The last time they were all collectively in Aldbourne, Juliette and the others had been shut up in their house, still taking groceries in from Gene, and the paratroopers had been blissfully unaware of their return.

Even thinking of Gene made her heart pang. When had she become so fond of him? It was those kind eyes, she was sure of it. And that face that was seemingly always trying to be serious, but when he let himself smile he was the single most beautiful being on the planet. God, had she ever even stood a chance?

As they walked she fought with herself for about a mile, zoning out of George and Frank's conversation completely, until the more impulsive side of her won (which it always did). She turned to look over her shoulder and her eyes locked with his instantly, as though there was some sort of magnetic pull that told her exactly where to find him, and told him exactly when she was looking.

She turned back to face the front immediately. It was too painful. She had known it would be too painful but she'd done it anyway.

But it was just as she'd expected. Those eyes were still so kind, even to her, who had left him as a bit of a wreck and without any explanation as to her behaviour. Those eyes were too kind for his own good, and a girl like her would wreck him and his kindness. She just knew it. She tried to force herself to stay away, if not for Alex's sake then for Gene's. She destroyed everything she touched, whether intentionally or otherwise, and she would not let herself destroy him. Not for the life of her. Not for anything.


	15. Yet What I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am - yet what I am none cares or knows." - John Clare, I Am

Juliette, Will, and Martin were sent back to Aldbourne around five days before the Americans were pulled off of the line. The entire time that they were back, Juliette split her days between worrying about Tom and worrying about the yanks, for there was no way to communicate with either of them and everything was so quiet without them in the small village.

Jules missed Tom terribly. Desperately. This was the first time they'd been apart for longer than a day since training. They had spent every day for five years together and all it took was one stupid French bridge and he was God knows where and she was stuck back in that house in Aldbourne, worrying and worrying and worrying. There was little more to do than worry. Gene had said he'd be fine and she trusted him, but was there ever a way to really know? All she could do was worry.

Martin and Will were much the same, though they wore it better. But being a three had shaken them all. They had been a six once upon a time. A six. That number seemed so astronomically huge right then, when they were a measly three. Six team members. God, what a time that had been. What a lovely and distant time.

As she was still the commanding officer with Thomas not back, Jules ordered Will to go and do grocery duty, so they could restock everything that had long since gone stale during the time they had spent in France. When he came back she helped him unpack, though Martin kept himself to himself and stayed upstairs in his room. He generally did turn in on himself in worry. And grief. But this wasn't grief because Tom was _fine_ , she reminded herself.

After they had unpacked the groceries Will and Jules both sat at the kitchen table. She twiddled her thumbs and he fiddled with his radio, tweaking things that likely didn't need tweaking, though she had next to no idea about fixing radios.

"Do you think he's okay?" Will asked eventually. Juliette had been expecting the question for a while. She knew Will enough by now to notice that he blew air in and out of his nose really loudly when he was considering asking something he wasn't sure he should really ask. It was almost comical sometimes, except she knew what the question was going to be before he asked it, so it wasn't.

Jules nodded without hesitation. "Yes." She offered Will a reassuring smile, as Alex had always done for her when she was worrying about something that was out of her hands. "I'm certain of it. He's a fighter, and he's in the best hands. What better combination to make sure he's okay?"

Will nodded and smiled a little bit, and then returned back to his fiddling.

Jules had always wondered how Alex had done it, reassured everyone so quickly and so easily and with such certainty, even though there was no way he could have possibly known that what he promised was true. She had wondered how Tom had done it, too, after he had taken over. Now, she finally understood. It wasn't some quality you were gifted with along with the title of CO, or a talent you were born with; it was something you did without a second thought just because you had to. You did it because it was your responsibility and people were counting on you, and so you said it with enough certainty that you believed it yourself. Because you had to.

She had never before considered that in order to be the commanding officer you had to be one hell of an optimist. She had never really seen Alex as an optimist, though in hindsight he very well was. He just hid it under the guise of realism to make everyone believe that his hopes were actually promises. It was a brilliant talent, and she knew she didn't do it half as well as he did - even Tom didn't do it half as well as he did - but at least she had calmed Will down, if only a tiny bit.

When the yanks came back there was suddenly so much more noise in Aldbourne, even from their small corner tucked away on the outskirts. Those Americans and their loud mouths and their boisterous behaviour and their undying need to announce their presence. Juliette smiled as soon as she heard them for the first time. She had missed them dearly.

Jules announced to the others that the Americans were back, for both Will and Martin had been upstairs, and they all three of them left the sanctity of the house and headed straight for the village centre, upon entering which she barrelled straight into the arms of Bill Guarnere.

"Hey, sweetheart," he laughed as she clung to him. "Miss me?"

She pulled back and smiled, and then hugged an unsuspecting Joe Toye, too. "I missed all you bloody yanks, regrettably. It's an issue I'll have to get under control otherwise I won't even recognise myself the next time I look in a mirror."

Bill cackled and Toye laughed with an eye roll. She shot them one last bright smile before whirling around to find more of her favourite yanks.

As she was skimming the crowd, and there were so many of them it was like finding a needle in a haystack, she set eyes on a smirking Joe Liebgott. "Looking for me?" he asked, relentless.

She rolled her eyes but hugged him anyway, because regardless of how big of a flirt he was she had grown rather fond of him. "No, I wasn't," she told him, and then pulled back from the hug with a grin. "Why? Were you looking for me?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You wish, doll."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do, Joe."

Then she found Malarkey, Skip, and Penkala all crowded together, and she had expected no less. She crashed their party with hugs for all. They each greeted her warmly, as they always did, which made her smile, and asked her what she'd been up to since they last saw her.

She smirked. "Worrying about what you lot were doing without me there to sort you out, mostly," she told them, laughing at their feigned affronted expressions.

"I'll have you know we worked even better without you there than with you," Penkala told her with a poorly suppressed grin.

"Yeah, you should've been there," Skip added ironically, which made her laugh.

Malarkey, as always, was just wearing that goofy smile of his, and she threw an arm around him because of it.

"I'm glad you're all safe," she told them sincerely. "Now stay that way, okay? Wherever you go next."

They all nodded and tried to school their expressions into something serious and firm. "Yes, ma'am," Penkala said, and when they all broke she laughed.

And then there was George, who she hugged fiercely tight, and Frank, too, who she had grown incredibly fond of during her time with the company in France. And then there was Shifty, who had been incredibly polite and formal with his hug, and Skinny whose hug had just been very warm, and Chuck Grant, who she wasn't even close with but who was definitely up there among the sweetest men ever. And there was Floyd, too, who had somehow picked up the troop transport vehicles after going AWOL from the hospital. He welcomed her in with open arms and a cheeky grin.

"I knew you'd fall into my arms eventually," he told her. Even with her face buried into his shoulder she just knew he was wearing the biggest smirk.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she told him, but he could hear the wide smile in her voice.

"How do you know I'm smirking?"

She pulled back to look at him, and he was, so she poked his cheek and then hugged him again. "You're so predictable," she told him, laughing, and felt his chest shake as he laughed along with her. He could have sworn that she had had him all figured out from the moment they met. Something in those inquisitive eyes told him so - those eyes that had pretended not to care but which were always so incredibly curious.

When she pulled back once more she tapped his cheek, which was starting to hurt with all of the smiling, and then whirled around to find more of her friends to hug, because she was just like that. As affectionate as a newborn puppy and so filled with love it was astounding. She wanted to hug just absolutely everyone.

When she found Gene standing off to the side - as the soldiers were all having to wait to be organised back into their lodgings now that probably half the company was gone - she practically threw herself at him. But he caught her immediately, as he did every time, recognising that blur of brunette hair and the fact that she always gave the most enthusiastic, full-of-love hugs of all time. He couldn't help but smile as she clung to him, and he felt her smile into his shoulder, too.

She pulled back after what was perhaps too long, but when she did she pulled back abruptly. Suddenly she was standing very straight and avoiding his eyes, an enigma of a girl. She risked a glance at his face only to give him a small smile and then looked at the floor again. "I'm glad you're okay," she told him, full of sincerity, and then turned and left before he could reply.

The weight of her promise to herself weighed heavily on her chest. She couldn't try to make Gene resent her; she had known from the beginning it wouldn't work and she thought it might even kill her if it did, so she wasn't exactly sure how to go about this. Six years of experience as one of the best spies operating in wartime and she had absolutely no idea how to deal with the fact that she had the biggest, hugest, most overwhelming crush on Gene Roe. She had hoped it would fade away with time but it only seemed to intensify. Oh dear, was she in trouble, so much trouble if she couldn't sort herself out.

It would only end in heartbreak. His or hers, it was unclear. Because he was a medic and medics are always in danger, absolutely always, and war is never kind to them. But she was also a spy, and spies are absolutely always practically begging to be caught, and that was a huge problem too. And there was still Alex, who she had betrayed. She couldn't reverse that and was there even any point in trying? There was no taking back these feelings for Gene and she knew that, because she knew herself and if she had the capacity to miss basically every person she had ever met as dearly as if they were her best friend, she knew there was no way she was getting over Gene Roe. God, what a mess.


	16. Nothing Else to Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It would not have occurred to her than an action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love." - George Orwell, 1984

Three days after the yanks had returned to Aldbourne there was still no word on Thomas, and the house was eerily quiet as a result. Will spent his days fiddling with whatever he could find, generally taking his radio apart and putting it back together again, which was okay because at least he wasn't obsessively cleaning again. Juliette had worried about him when he'd gotten himself into that habit. Martin, as he tended to do when stressed or anxious, kept himself to himself. And likely because of Tom's absence they didn't receive any further orders for a while, which was good, because being CO when merely helping out a couple of companies of paratroopers was one thing but creating the plan for an undercover mission was an entirely other one.

Juliette was also glad, for it was an incredibly dangerous time to be a spy in France; the Germans were feeling vengeful after having been invaded, and from what she could guess based on the information they'd gotten, they were rounding up Allied spies with increasing fervour, which was very scary indeed.

With Tom's absence, Martin's self-isolation, Will's distractedness, and the fact that she was still trying to avoid Gene, Jules had become most lonely. She really hadn't realised just how often she had interacted with Tom, let alone how much she had depended on him. She found herself taking frequent walks through the village to distract herself, though with the paratrooper population of Aldbourne now settled back in and severely fewer in number than before, the quietness there was jarring, too.

It didn't take very long for replacements for the fallen soldiers to arrive, however.

The replacements were fresh-faced and enthusiastic. There was something bright in their eyes, something excited, which reminded her so much of how the original yanks had been when she'd first met them. These ones, however, also idolised the originals, so they had the additional starry-eyed look to them that made them look a lot younger than they probably were.

Juliette didn't really know what the protocol was with them; the original Americans already knew who they were and what they did, so was it then okay for the replacements to be told, too? Or was that an unnecessary risk? But wasn't it also a risk that any of the originals would slip up at some time or other and perhaps mention one of them in their stories about Normandy and D-Day?

These were questions she had to answer herself, being the commanding officer, and all she wanted was for Tom to be there to tell her what to do. And then she wondered why her first thought had been to look to Tom and not Alex; they were both absent, and both had been commanding officers, but she had thought of Tom first. She didn't even know whether she should feel guilty about that. In all honesty, with the loneliness, and how quiet everything had been, and missing Thomas, and having to make so many difficult decisions, if there was one thing she was truly sick and tired of it was feeling guilty. She seemed to have made a habit of trying to bully herself into feeling guilty about everything. A horrible habit, but she couldn't seem to shake it.

Similar to how fate had had it during her time in Aldbourne previously, it was whilst she was taking a walk, contemplating not for the first time what she was supposed to tell the Americans to say (or not say) to the replacements, that she bumped into Gene. Quite literally, actually, for neither of them had been looking where they were going.

"Sorry!" she squeaked out upon collision, instinctively grabbing onto the arm that had steadied her by the waist. Then she looked up. "Oh! Gene." She let go immediately.

That was a job well done at avoiding him. She had tried to stay away because she knew her resolve crumbled whenever she saw him, and she felt it doing just that as he looked back at her, quirking a small smile without seeming to be aware that he was doing it.

"I wasn't looking where I was going," she explained quietly, feeling herself blushing furiously under his gaze.

"Lost in thought?" he surmised.

She nodded. "I have to decide whether the replacements are allowed to be told about us. They'll have to know our real names, because asking you lot to use our old fake ones would be too difficult at this point, but I still have to decide whether they can know that we're spies."

Gene nodded along, thinking hard on what she was saying as if meaning to council her. "What are you thinkin'?" he asked, watching her curiously.

Jules shrugged with a shake of her head. "I'm really not sure. I'd say they aren't to know if I was convinced your lot wouldn't slip up, but I just think it would be too difficult for them. And I don't mean that as an insult to their intelligence or anything, because I know a lot of them are dead clever, but you've seen first hand how easy it is to slip up." She smiled at the memory of them all accidentally revealing their names to him, and he did, too. "All it would take is one anecdote about Normandy that features any of us and it'd be game over. I'm not sure if it'd be more hassle than it's worth."

Gene nodded. "I see the problem."

A small pause fell upon them, and Juliette only noticed herself fidgeting vigourously with the capped sleeve of her dress when Gene gently unclasped her hand from the fabric. He was watching her closely. "Is that all you were thinkin' about?"

Those bloody blue eyes. They made her want to spill out everything. And maybe it would just be easier if she did. But when had she ever made a habit of making her life easier?

After a few moments' hesitation, she nodded rapidly. "Yes," she replied, though her voice had cracked upon delivery. She knew she had given herself away. How was it that she was such a brilliant, quick liar in the field, but one look at him made her the worst liar in the world? When his face fell, seeing straight through her and probably a bit disappointed that she had lied to him in the first place, she sighed and her shoulders slumped. "Well, no. Not really."

"Somethin' to do with why you're avoidin' me?" he guessed with a rueful smile.

She smiled sadly. "It sounds so wretched when you say it." Then she shrugged. "Suppose it is, really. I owe you another apology."

He shook his head. "No. You don't. I just wanna know why." He paused. "Is it -" he cut himself off, still watching her closely, and Jules thought that on anyone else that look would have been piercing, but on him it just looked concerned. "Is it somethin' I did?"

Juliette shook her head quickly, a frown falling onto her lips, aghast. "No! It's not you at all. It's all me." _As usual,_ she thought to herself, and then berated herself immediately, because hadn't she decided to try to stop making herself feel guilty?

His shoulders seemed to relax a bit in relief. "What is it, then?"

Well, there was no escaping this time. "Two main reasons," she told him, watching him for the nod she knew he'd give (which he did), and then turning away so she could tell him them without having to see his reaction. She was a mixture of embarrassed and guilty at the confessions. There was that bloody guilt again.

"The first is," she began, and then had to pause to will the words out. They seemed to have stuck in her throat momentarily, but she forced them out anyway. "I think you make me nervous." _God, how embarrassing._ She thought she would regret saying it as soon as she risked a glance at his face, but when she did he was smiling. "Why are you smiling? I'm really embarrassed." As she said it, she couldn't help but start smiling too.

Gene shrugged. "I think you make me a little nervous too."

She scoffed good-naturedly. "Don't believe you. You're never anything but calm and collected. Plus, I talk for days, and you just let me run off with the conversation. I find it impossible to believe there are any nerves to be had when I'm just rambling pure rubbish."

"Well, maybe you just don't notice 'cause you hardly look at me," he countered.

Her eyebrows shot up. "I look at you all the time!" she protested, and then blushed furiously. "I mean, like, a normal amount, though. I look at you a normal amount." This conversation had taken an unexpected and mortifying turn.

"Sure you do," he replied sarcastically. She wasn't sure whether he was trying to tease that she looked at him significantly more or less than she should, but regardless felt the need to defend herself.

"Well, you never say my name!"

"That's not true."

"Yes it is!" At the look on his face she knew she'd got him. "You've said my name once and that was right after finding out what it is. Other than that it's either chérie or nothing." She smiled triumphantly as he searched for an explanation.

Eventually, he shook his head, and shot her a look of mixed amusement and embarrassment. "What's the other reason?"

That was enough to make her smile fall right off of her face. "I don't really know how to explain it."

"Take your time."

How much of it did he have?

"I, uh, hm," she stammered out, and then sighed out a short laugh to herself. "Well. You see, the thing is that... well, it's like this: I, um... I... Alex."

"Alex?"

"You know, my old CO who -"

"Yeah, I remember. Why Alex?"

So sweet. So innocent. So oblivious.

"Well, see, the thing is, when he, you know, kissed me," He nodded, and she wanted to shrivel up and disappear, "I was really shocked but I thought that I would make a conscious effort to try and feel for him like that too. And then he died, and he died for me, and that was so awful, and I felt so awful, and then I sort of convinced myself that it was more important than ever that I loved him. In a romantic way, that is. But then we came back here and I just -"

Could she even say it? So embarrassing. _So_ embarrassing.

"You just what?"

_I saw your stupid face and forgot it all, that's what._

She decided to swerve lanes very quickly. Hopefully he would brush aside the incoherence as emotional turmoil. "There are so many things that I've done that are really awful. Really, really wretched. I've lied, and I've stolen, and I've blown things up, and I've killed people. And that's so wretched, and I hate it, but it's true. I'm really, really conscious of the fact that the person you think I am, the person I am in front of you, isn't the full picture. I feel like I'm betraying you in some way because I never talk about what I've done, because I'm not allowed to but also because I'm ashamed."

She didn't dare look at him now. She couldn't bear to see his reaction.

"Y'know, you're allowed to be brave."

Her eyes shot to his, all furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes.

He laughed a little bit. "You're allowed to be brave," he repeated. "You're doin' an important job. You think I don't know what it means to be a spy?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "Um, yes. That's the whole point of spies. That you don't know what they do."

Then he shook his head. "Y'know, I think the problem is you force yourself to see the spy in you as who you are, instead of somethin' you do. You think that who y'are when you're with me, or the others, ain't you, but it is. I can tell it is."

"How could you possibly be able to tell that?"

"It's obvious. In how you talk about colours, or art. Or the sky. How you look at dogs you see in the street. How you smile so wide when you see someone you like. How you hug people when you've missed 'em, like you're tryin' to just fill 'em with love."

She was gobsmacked. Shocked into silence. Had anyone ever talked about her in a way that was so fond? So beautiful? Had anyone ever noticed that much about her? He may not have said her name but he had looked, really looked, and that was a million times better.

She really was lost for words, and he realised, because there was a look of astonishment on her face and she almost looked like she was about to cry. He shook his head and smiled to himself, looking away for a moment. "You're allowed to do your job," he reiterated, because he really, truly believed it to be true, "and you're allowed to be good at it. It don't change who y'are."

Had he always had such a way with words? God, she was almost crying.

When he looked back at her, all he saw was that familiar blur of brunette hair, and then he felt the full force of one of her hugs, always so enthusiastic and so full of love.

She smiled into his shoulder and thought that he could feel it, which was good, because he would never know what he had given her with those words, and a hug and a smile were all she could really offer him in return.


	17. I Recognise My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I recognise my friends by the shame I experience at the idea that they will read what I write... Whoever shames me is my friend." - Georges Bataille, cited by Milo Sweedler in The Dismembered Community: Bataille, Blanchot, Leiris, and the Remains of Laure

_"You're allowed to be brave."_ I don't think Gene had any idea what kind of gift he was giving me when he said those words. I've thought of them every single day since. They haunt me, because they get me through. They make me keep going. I'm allowed to be brave. I don't feel brave, but I think sometimes I am, like when they drag me back to the interrogation room to do the carbolic. I have to be brave then. I don't know what else I could be and still get through it.

The loose-lipped guards who aren't supposed to talk in front of me but do it anyway have let it slip that there will be a doctor coming to check on the prisoners to decide who will be moved to the KZs - at the advice of the hauptsturmführer, that is. I'm nearing the end of my confession. If I've finished by then and refuse to tell them anything else I know I'll be on that list.

I think I'll try to knock myself unconscious when the doctor comes. Surely he won't be able to properly analyse me if I'm unconscious. I don't know how I'm going to pull that off but I spend every spare moment that I'm not writing trying to work it out.

Who would have thought that it is so hard to just make yourself die?

The hauptsturmführer hasn't read my recent writing yet because I think one of the other prisoners is spilling their guts, which fills me with dread, but I suppose, in a way, that's what I'm doing too. He knows by now that I simply cannot help but to waste his time, so reading my writing is a little bit lower on his list of priorities. Good, because I'm gonna get it when he does read them. I can't remember how many pages I've filled purely with conversations, and that's a stunt I pull _so often_ to bide my time, and the hauptsturmführer absolutely hates it. Unless Tom's in them, of course. My one saving grace. The hauptsturmführer bloody loves Tom.

I wonder what he'd say if he ever found out how frequently he appears in my confessions to the bloody Gestapo. I feel so rotten even thinking about it. I owe him many, many apologies, but perhaps the most for that. And the others, of course. And the yanks. None of them deserve it. But I have nothing else to write. They're all such a crucial part of my story that I can't just leave them out - I would have far too many gaps to fill.

Makes sense, actually, because now that I'm here and I'm without them I am full of nothing but gaps. A million different gaps that will never again be filled.

God, when did my internal monologue become so morbid? When my life did, I suppose. And I'm just _so_ bloody good at being morbid these days. I have stumbled upon a new talent.

I wonder whether, if they saw me in the street, any of the boys or the Americans would even recognise me now. I think if I looked in a mirror I wouldn't even recognise myself. I'm still wearing the same clothes I was caught in, but I think they'll give me new ones when the doctor comes, to keep up appearances.

Now I'm back to thinking about how to knock myself unconscious with my incredibly limited resources. Or maybe I'll get lucky, and I'll knock myself dead. But luck isn't something I seem to have a lot of these days, so I'll have to settle for unconsciousness. What to do, what to do, what to do.


	18. Anything is Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Anything is better than lies and deceit!" - Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

When Tom came back, perfectly healthy and mostly healed and full of just as much good humour as he always was, Juliette was ecstatic. She had had to hug him with half of the enthusiasm of her usual hugs on account of his wound, but she had hugged him for a long time, almost crying with relief that he was back and he was okay.

The team immediately fell back into a much more natural rhythm with him around, their trio going back up to a quartet and feeling much more what they were used to. Everything felt so perfectly normal it was like they had never even left Aldbourne in the first place.

Jules sat Tom down once Martin and Will had retreated upstairs to discuss the situation with the paratrooper replacements. She had yet to make a final decision on what they were to be told, and as of yet was still under the impression that the yanks hadn't let anything slip.

Tom listened to her explain it closely, and afterwards considered his opinion on the matter for a few moments. Finally, he nodded. "We won't tell them. There's no reason for them to know and the protocol has always been that we only tell people when it's absolutely necessary."

"We'll need to get back to Winters on that, then. He's their CO now and he's been waiting on a final decision."

Tom nodded, and told her he would go and find him in a little while.

"Anything else changed whilst I've been gone?" he then wondered, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Jules laughed loudly and shoved him gently by the arm. "Not much, really." Then she was suddenly so overcome by relief that he was back that she wrapped her arms around his arm where he sat beside her, and hugged it close to her. "I'm so glad you're okay. You gave me such a scare."

Tom lifted his other arm and placed it on her shoulder. "There, there, little Jules. I'm back now."

She pulled back from him and shot him a glare, though it was halfhearted at best.

"Have you met any of these replacements yet?" he asked.

Jules shook her head. "I've seen lots of them out and about, but I haven't actually spoken to any of them. Couldn't tell you a single name, but I think that's much the same with the veterans, too. They're not really willing to open their doors and let the newbies in so easily."

Tom appeared contemplative. "I should rather like to meet them. Do you reckon they'll be at the pub tonight?"

Jules laughed. "Not a clue. You're back for all of five minutes and the first thing you want to do is drink."

"There is little else to live for," he told her with a grin, and though it was sad, she had to agree. Those nights out in the pub had been some of the best of her entire life, even so few in number as they were.

"I'll go out and find someone to ask to see whether they'll be out tonight. I'll go and find Winters whilst I'm out, too, so you can rest and not overexert yourself. The last thing we need is for you to be sent back to the hospital again."

"Alright, mother."

"Don't start."

Juliette headed out into Aldbourne not long after and came across Bill, Toye, George, and a ginger she assumed was a replacement. When she approached, he looked at her and she knew for sure that he was; he had that bright look in his eyes, and that flush in his cheeks that was all enthusiasm and wide-eyed wonder at the veterans by his side. She wondered what this one had done to earn himself such esteemed company.

"Hey! Jules!" George cried upon seeing her. She laughed as she came to stand with them.

"Hiya, sweetheart, what's the news?" Bill drawled, throwing an arm around her.

"Tom wants to know if you're going out tonight. He's eager to meet the replacements." They each nodded, and then she turned to the ginger. "Of which, I believe, you might be one?"

The ginger man, who looked more like a boy, really, nodded quickly. "Yeah. Babe Heffron, great to meet ya."

"Lovely to meet you too, Babe," she told him with a smile. "What's earned you your seat at the big kids' table?"

"Can't you tell from the accent?" Toye asked with a smirk.

Jules rolled her eyes with a grin. "All you yanks sound the bloody same to me. You're either southern or you're not, and that's the only distinction I can make."

"He's from South Philly!" Bill cried, as though she really should have known this. Philadelphia, she had been told many a time by Bill, was where he was born and raised, and that was something he was very proud of. It made sense that being from 'Philly' was what had earned Babe his place in the inner circle.

Jules laughed. "That's lovely, Bill." Then she looked between all three of them. "So _are_ you? Coming out tonight, I mean."

"It's a Saturday, isn't it?" George asked rhetorically, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Usual place, usual time?" They all three nodded their affirmatives. She sent them each a smile. "Brilliant, I'll let the boys know. Do you happen to know where I can find Winters?"

"Haven't seen him. What do you need him for?" George wondered. Jules wanted to smack him, though of course he wasn't to know that the replacements weren't allowed in on the secret.

"I need to give him an answer on something."

"On what?"

"It's about work," she told him, and each of the veterans nodded their understanding. Poor Babe, however, looked utterly lost.

Bill noticed this, too, for he began to explain. "Jules, here, is a -"

"Nurse!" she cut him off, flashing Babe her most winning smile. "I'm a nurse. Very proud of it too. Served in Normandy with the Red Cross." She shot what she hoped was a subtle look at the other three, who all looked confused but went with it anyway.

"That's what you need to talk to Winters about," Toye said, obviously piecing it together. "The fact that you're a 'nurse'."

She smiled. At least he had gotten it. "Yes. That's exactly right." Then she turned back to Babe. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Babe. I trust you'll be there tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

That made her smile. He was sweet.

"Good. So I'll see you then." She shot him one final smile and then turned to the others. "Boys."

"Jules," they said, and she grinned as she retreated.

Finding Winters was relatively easy, and as always he was in the company of Nixon. She told them both that their status as spies was not to be revealed to the replacements, and to please spread this message to the veterans as soon as possible to minimise the risk. They both nodded.

"Who are you now?" Nixon asked with a smirk.

She grinned. "Still Juliette, too risky to go by our old fake names. I'm a nurse, though, with the Red Cross. And apparently I served in Normandy."

They both laughed. "Very cool," Winters said, and she giggled.

"Anyway, I'd best be off. Tom's still recovering and I should make sure he's not climbing the walls or throwing himself down the stairs in my absence."

Nixon laughed. "You say that as if all you spies aren't as insane as each other."

She grinned. "True enough, honestly. But you jump out of planes, too." Winters chuckled lightly and Nixon smirked, taking a sip from his flask. She smiled at them both once more. "Send Harry and Buck my love."

"You know I won't," said Nixon.

Winters rolled his eyes. "I will."

"Thank you very much." She nodded to them both in turn. "Adieu." And then set off to head back home.


	19. A Little Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My heart is a little heavy." - Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

The pub in Aldbourne that they always went to was just as packed as it had always been, though half of the original faces were replaced by new ones. It was incredibly strange to look around and not see Tipper hanging around with Liebgott, after he'd been wounded severely in Carentan, or Popeye flitting between groups, after he'd been shot in the behind on D-Day.

The atmosphere was still warm and energetic, however, though there was a rather obvious line drawn between the veterans and the replacements. Other than, of course, Babe Heffron, who had been welcomed in amongst the veterans' ranks as though he had been there all along, purely because he had grown up close to Bill. He seemed sweet, though, so Jules was glad they weren't giving him a hard time, at least.

As Juliette, Thomas, Martin, and Will manoeuvred their way through the pub on their way to the bar they passed a game of darts taking place, George and Buck on one of the teams. As she passed Jules sent them a smile, and asked Buck, "Did Winters and Nixon send my love?"

Buck laughed. "Dick did. Harry sends his right back at you."

She smiled. "Glad to hear it." Then she leaned closer to him and George. "I know you're losing sorely, but I'm rooting for you two."

George grinned. "Well, I have a feeling we might just get lucky." And he shot her a wink before she followed the others to the bar.

After getting their drinks the four spies turned back to face the room, and Juliette was suddenly overcome with chills. Out of nowhere she recalled how her blood had turned to ice the last time she had been there, when Alex had shown up at the door to call them into an emergency mission that ended up lasting three months and ending in their return without him. Her grief over his death seemed to spring up entirely unbidden these days; some days she was absolutely fine but others she missed him so much it felt like she couldn't breathe. In order to try to suppress that feeling she downed all of her drink in one and set the glass back on the bar behind her immediately, shooting the others a sheepish smile. She wasn't out to get drunk, only to forget.

Juliette ended up standing with Floyd, Skinny, and Shifty, who were telling her about one of their (many) cancelled combat jumps from the last few days. Apparently they kept being briefed, getting ready to jump, and then having the jump cancelled at the very last minute. On one occasion they had all been just about to load into the planes when it was called off.

After Jules was laughing with them after Skinny retold the story of that event, Floyd turned to her. "So, we hear you're a nurse now."

Jules chuckled. "Certainly am. With the Red Cross. And I served in Normandy. All of a sudden I've become the person I was supposed to be in wartime."

"You weren't always supposed to be a spy?" Skinny asked, genuinely intrigued.

She laughed with a shake of her head. "No. I did a different job first, but that's properly top secret so I can't tell you what it was, and whilst I was doing that job I was recruited to train to be a spy. I didn't know that's what I was being recruited for, of course - they don't just come up to you and ask you if you want to be a spy." They all laughed here.

"They don't?" Skinny teased.

"How _do_ they ask you, then?" Floyd inquired.

Jules grinned. "For me, it was in a hallway. There was a man who came up to me and asked whether I wanted to train for a promotion. I asked him what the training entailed and what the promotion was and he told me it was top secret. He said 'if you say yes, you'll start tomorrow'." She shrugged. "So I said yes."

They all looked fascinated. "That's really how you became a spy?" Skinny asked.

She nodded. "Yep. Don't let it slip in front of the replacements, though. They have to think we're civilians."

"I can't imagine not bein' able to tell my parents what I do," Shifty commented in that sweet southern drawl of his.

Juliette smiled. "It's not so bad." This, of course, was a lie. "My parents thought I was making munitions, so they knew I wasn't just sitting around and twiddling my thumbs at least."

Jules ended up sticking with Floyd for much of the rest of the night, and the pair of them flitted between different groups of soldiers together without really noticing. Well, Jules didn't, at least. Her eyes, for the most part, kept flicking to the door, wondering whether Gene would be coming and then berating herself for wanting to see him every waking moment even though she had told herself to stay away. She wasn't sure whether the alcohol made this sensation better or worse, but it definitely made her more restless that she was so interested to know whether he was coming.

She ended up dragging Floyd over to meet some of the replacements with her, insisting that because he was an NCO he should at least know some of their names. They ended up speaking to three men named Les Hashey, James Miller, and Tony Garcia - who, apparently, were all good friends with Babe.

They were all quite shy but very willing to engage the pair of them in conversation. They were especially full of questions for Floyd about D-Day and the fact that he'd been stabbed by one of their own, a man named Smith who Jules had only really seen in passing. Floyd, to his credit, answered every question they asked, and very politely, too, and Juliette wondered whether he was only doing it to please her, but she was happy about it nonetheless. She didn't like for the replacements to be treated as pariahs or outcasts just because they had missed D-Day.

It was when she was glancing at the door once more as someone entered, stiffening subconsciously as she wondered whether it might be Gene and then sighing silently when she realised it wasn't (did she want to see him or didn't she? she really needed to make up her mind) that her eyes shot back to Miller at the question he'd asked. "So, are you two together?"

It was only then that she noticed Floyd's hand was resting on the small of her back, and she wondered how long it had been there before she realised she didn't really mind. In fact, it was rather nice to be the one being touched instead of the one doing the touching.

Floyd laughed and when he looked down at her she looked back, shooting him a smile and a good-natured eye roll. When his hand moved to her hip she rested hers on his shoulder and looked back to the replacements who were still waiting on an answer. Floyd shook his head and she laughed again, resting her head on his shoulder next to her hand and feeling his hand tighten his hold on her just slightly. "Nah," he said simply.

Distantly, she wondered whether she might have had too much to drink, but there was something so warm about being touched like that, and in front of other people no less - as though he was rather proud to have her on his arm. She couldn't help another glance at the door, but Floyd quickly drew her attention back to him without even realising it when he looked back down at her.

"How're you doing?" he wondered.

She grinned. "Not drunk enough."

So he laughed and they went back to the bar and it was all just fun with Floyd. As she was standing with him at the bar she locked eyes with George, who raised his eyebrows and flashed her a smirk, glancing between her and Floyd suggestively. She rolled her eyes back at him but she was smiling, and when he shot her a thumbs up she laughed.

"So, _Juliette_ ," Floyd began, emphasising her name with a smirk, "you got a Romeo?"

Jules laughed. "I'm a Juliette, not a Juliet, so no." When he didn't seem to comprehend the difference she giggled. "Mine has a double 'T' and an 'E'. It's French."

He quirked an eyebrow, still smirking. "So you're a French girl, huh?"

"Born in Bordeaux, moved to London when I was eleven," she replied with a smile and a half-shrug.

"Say something in French."

She giggled. "What do you want me to say?"

His smirk turned into a real smile. "I want you to say that you want to get outta here with me." He had both hands on her hips.

She knew she had definitely had too much to drink when she smiled, got up on her tiptoes, and put her arms around his neck. "Je veux partir avec toi."

His smile widened. "Is that a yes?"

"Oui."

And so they left the pub together, and she didn't have to keep checking the door anymore because she was the next one out of it, and she was feeling well and truly reckless.

At the back of her mind she knew she shouldn't really be doing it, but Floyd was sweet, and attractive, and she knew he fancied her, and above all he was there. Before she could really think of what she was doing she was pressed up against the back wall of some shop or other, his lips hot and feverish on hers. And, God, was he a good kisser. He kissed fast and passionate and was all sensuality. He was almost intense. But he definitely knew what he was doing.

As he began to kiss a line across her jaw, she shivered under his touch. It was like he was leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands began to travel downwards from the small of her back and just as his lips grazed her neck, she panicked.

"I'm sorry," were the first words out of her mouth after she'd pushed him away. She was breathing very quickly all of a sudden, and very heavily. She clutched her shaking hands to her chest.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

She nodded, eyes finding his tentatively before immediately flicking away. "I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm -"

"Hey, no, it's alright. We don't have to do anything. It's okay."

The effort to keep back the tears was beginning to give her a headache, and the fact that he was being so kind about it just made her want to cry. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

Floyd took ahold of her hands gently and gave them a squeeze, ducking his head until she'd meet his eyes and see all of the kindness, all of the sincerity there. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, alright? You didn't waste anyone's time. Now, will you tell me what's wrong?"

This was all it took to make her fall apart. He caught her instantly as her legs gave out beneath her, and held her as she sobbed, her head buried into his shoulder as he stroked her hair. "I -" she tried to begin, but was wracked with another intense wave of sobs. "I - Alex - I -"

"Take your time. Just breathe, alright?"

She took his advice and tried to breath in time with him, until she'd calmed down somewhat. "My friend - he's -" she screwed her eyes shut. "He's dead."

"Oh, Jules," Floyd sighed out, the hand that rested on the centre of her bag rubbing up and down to soothe her.

"I just wanted to forget," she confessed, shaking her head into his shoulder and suddenly feeling so, so wretched. "But I don't think I can."

Once she'd calmed down he rubbed her back once more before pulling away slightly, checking her face to see whether she was okay. She mustered her best smile for him, and wiped at her eyes, praying she hadn't smudged her makeup.

"Let me walk you home," he said. Jules gave a watery smile and nodded. He had no business being that kind.

As they walked he gave her his jacket, even through her protests, and she gave him a really genuine smile. "You're a really special guy, Floyd. Do you know that?"

He shot her one bashful smile and shrugged. "You're a special girl."

She laughed a little bit. "No, I mean it. There aren't many men who would've been so kind to me as you. I -" she didn't even have the words to express her gratitude. "Just, thank you. Really."

"It's okay. You really don't have to thank me."

"I do."

Then he laughed. "I wonder if either of us will remember this in the morning."

Jules giggled. "I hope I do. I'll hate myself for it, but I hope I remember your kindness."

He ducked his head shyly. "Stop with the compliments, would ya?"

"But you deserve all the compliments in the world!" she exclaimed, grabbing onto his arm, suddenly all smiles. "Floyd Talbert you are going to make some very lucky girl incredibly happy one day, and I hope she appreciates you as much as you deserve."

He laughed loudly and twirled her under that same arm. "And you're gonna make the doc very happy when you eventually just tell him how you feel."

"I - _what_?" She was at a genuine loss for words, which he seemed to find incredibly amusing.

"I've seen you with him, so don't deny it. And don't try and tell me you weren't looking at the door the whole night wondering if he was gonna show up."

_Busted._

There was no point even trying to deny it. "Please don't tell him. I think he already knows but even so."

"I won't. But you need to."

She sighed. "If only it was that simple."

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "It literally is that simple."

She laughed a little bit. "This'll probably get back to him, you know. You and me."

Floyd shrugged. "Just tell him the truth. I'm sure he'll understand."

When they reached the house she sighed and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Why are you so kind? A million thank yous is hardly enough."

Floyd laughed and shook his head, hugging her back tightly. "A million thank yous is more than enough. Hearing you speak French was repayment enough, anyway." And just like that, he was back to his usual, flirty self. She loved him so much.

Juliette pulled back and took ahold of both of his hands before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "When you find your very lucky girl I want an invitation to the wedding, okay? I want to let her know personally that she's bagged the sweetest guy in the world."

"Aw, Jules, you're makin' me blush."

She tapped him on the cheek twice as they both laughed and then gave him back his jacket.

"Thank you, again," she told him once she'd unlocked the front door, none of the other boys having returned yet. "For both the jacket and just being you. You're an absolute gem."

Floyd gave her a very warm smile and nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Take care of yourself, alright? And talk to the doc!"

She giggled, shaking her head. "Okay, okay! Just remember to invite me to your wedding, okay? Otherwise I'll track you down."

Floyd laughed and they bid each other goodbye, and once she'd closed the front door she leaned against it with a sigh. Sometimes people were so kind it almost made her sad, and Floyd Talbert had one of the kindest, most genuine hearts of anyone she'd ever met. She loved him so dearly for it.

She took a lot longer than usual getting ready for bed, largely due to how intoxicated she still was, and when she looked in the mirror she had, of course, smudged her makeup, which made Floyd even more of a saint for not mentioning it. As she laid in bed and waited for the others to come in, not being able to sleep before she knew they had come in safely, she thought on Floyd's words. She wondered whether she really should just tell Gene and have it all out. She was so sure he knew how she felt anyway, so what was holding her back? Fear of rejection? Or simply the heavy knowledge that the pair of them wouldn't both be in Aldbourne forever, and wherever he was sent next she would likely be sent in the opposite direction? Although their paths seemed to be intertwined in Aldbourne, it was a big wide world out there, and after all, would she even live beyond the war? It seemed highly unlikely. So why would she do that to him?

So much to think about. There was always so much to think about. Besides, she was much too drunk to be trying to make decisions. She had already proven to herself once that night that making decisions was not one of her fortes when drunk.

Thinking back on her interaction with Floyd made her laugh a little bit and she turned onto her side, staring at the curtains on the window in the dark until she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've finished writing now. that's a thing that's happened. still recovering. rip me.


	20. Full of A Hundred Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I scarce know what I shall say though I am full of a hundred things." - John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne

As soon as she came downstairs the next morning Juliette knew she was in for it.

"Did you sleep with Tab?"

She all but collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. "No."

"I saw you leave with him," Will said.

"Everyone saw you leave with him," Martin added.

Jules sighed loudly. "Bloody hell." Then she looked up at them all. "If you all saw then why didn't you stop me?"

" _I_ , for one, didn't see," Tom told her. She huffed out a laugh.

Martin shrugged from where he sat opposite her. "You looked like you were having fun and I thought you could probably use a good sh-"

"Do not use that word!" she cut him off, horrified.

"So you didn't sleep with him, then?" Tom pressed. She put her head back in her hands, laughing to herself because she had been right last night when she said she'd hate herself if she remembered what happened.

"No. I kissed him - or he kissed me, don't remember and it doesn't matter - and then I panicked and started bloody crying. Oh my God, that's so embarrassing. That's _so_ embarrassing. Oh my God."

"Why were you crying?" Tom asked, his concern clear in his voice.

She shrugged. "It was nothing, really."

"Jules."

She sighed. "I was sad about Alex. He was the last person I kissed before Floyd."

"You kissed Alex?!" Will exclaimed.

None of them had known, but Tom, at least, didn't look very surprised. But Jules had, after all, already told him about how her and Alex's relationship had shifted right at the end.

She nodded languidly. "Yeah. Only once. And, for the record, he kissed me."

"When?"

She smiled a little bit. "You remember that day in the safe house in Paris? After the posters of Tom had been put up and I asked where everyone would want to go in the world? He was acting strangely afterwards so I went to find him. He kissed me then."

Will looked really sad all of a sudden. "That was the day before."

Jules nodded. That had been the day before he'd died.

"What did Tab say?" Tom asked, watching her curiously. "When you started crying, I mean."

Juliette shook her head and hugged her arms around herself. "He was really, really sweet about it. A lot kinder than he had to be. He gave me a hug and then walked me home, gave me his jacket and everything. He was really, really lovely about the whole thing. I'll have to thank him next time I see him."

"He's a good guy," Tom commented. Jules nodded her agreement but didn't say anything more.

Will and Martin were sharing a look, and both of them looked like they really wanted to say something. When their eyes started to dart between Jules and the other, the girl in question sighed out a laugh. "What is it?"

Both of their heads whipped around to face her, wide eyed as they realised they'd been caught in their silent plotting. Will eventually spoke. "Don't you have a thing with Gene?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Jules groaned again, placing her forehead down on the table. "Does everyone know?"

"It's quite obvious," Martin said simply. When she glanced up at him he was smirking smugly.

"It's not really a 'thing'," she eventually replied, rising from her seat at the table to get some water. "More of an unrequited situation."

"Juliette! That is the biggest lie you have ever told!" Tom accused.

Jules laughed loudly. "It isn't!"

"Have you ever kissed him?" Will asked.

"No."

"Have you ever hugged him?"

"Yes, but I hug everyone!"

"She hugs him tighter!" Tom interjected.

"I don't!"

"You do!"

"I don't!"

"Why are we discussing this again?" Martin asked.

When Jules saw the deadpan expression on his face she giggled. "You lot are the ones interrogating me, it isn't my fault."

"If you fancy Gene why did you leave with Tab?" Will asked, ignoring these two comments entirely. He really did seem to be in possession of an overt interest in her love life.

Jules shrugged, turning back to the sink to pour her water, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. "I don't know, really. I was quite drunk - so was he, before you say anything. And being back in the pub reminded me of last time, when Alex came to get us to move out, and that made me sad. And Floyd was just kind of there, and he's sweet and attractive and I just -" She sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "There's no excuse for it, really. I shouldn't have done it. I was leading him on and that's nasty. I owe him an apology as well as my thanks."

"Gene'll probably find out, you know," Will commented. Jules heard someone, probably Martin, smack him on the head. "Ow!"

She laughed to herself and turned around, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking a sip. After a moment, she nodded. "I know. And I have no idea what I'm going to say to him. I'll probably have to start avoiding him again."

"You know, the vast majority of your interpersonal problems could be solved in a heartbeat if you actually talked to people. Do you realise that?" Martin said, crossing his arms. "You avoid communication like the plague."

"I don't want to be rejected!"

"He won't reject you!" Tom shouted back, exasperated.

Jules put her glass down and sighed, crossing her own arms as she stared back at Thomas. "Well, he deserves better. Plus, we won't be in Aldbourne forever. There'll come a time when he goes back home and I'll likely be dead so what's the point?"

Martin was looking at her much like her mother used to when she was disappointed in her. "That's not something you get to decide for him. He has as much a part in this relationship as you do."

"Then he can also make the first move, no?"

"Not when you're constantly avoiding him."

She hated so much that he was right, and hearing him say it made her handling of the entire situation seem incredibly stupid. And, above all, childish. What was going on inside her head these days?

"Next time I see him I'll explain everything," she promised them after a long pause, uncrossing her arms to fiddle at her skirt. That was a conversation she was dreading.

Jules headed out of the house a while later just to walk and think, which she seemed to be doing an awful lot of these days. Instead of thinking about the future, however, she let herself think about the past. She tended to try to avoid her memories but it felt like the right time to listen to them. Maybe there had come a time when she needed to remember the past in order to properly move into the future, so even though it made her sad, she thought about every memory that decided to let itself be remembered.

She hadn't known where she was going, having decided to just walk aimlessly, but she found herself in that field she'd first met Gene in anyway. It had been an awfully long time since she'd last been there - since before they'd left for Bordeaux, before Alex had died, and before D-Day. So much had changed since then. But something in her heart had tugged her there so when she realised where she was she smiled. She sat in the grass just as she used to, closing her eyes against the sunlight.

She remembered her golden childhood, how she'd played at being fighter pilots with her brother, and how he'd sometimes even let her win. She remembered being infinitely interested in listening to her mum's stories from the war, and asking her to show her how she had healed the wounded soldiers - Jules had even used some of those techniques in the field. And she remembered her father, who never spoke about the war other than how he had met his wife; he never showed so much affection as when talking about Jules' mother. That was the kind of love she wanted. An enduring one.

Juliette wasn't entirely sure whether being away from home for so long made her miss all of them less or more. Sometimes it felt like she was drowning in her longing for home, but sometimes she thought that maybe she didn't miss it so much at all. She missed their old Christmasses, though, every single year. That was a difficult day to get through. That, and her birthday. Always another year without her family. Another year which passed without them knowing her.

A single tear slipped out and she let it fall uninterrupted. Her parents hadn't even known her as an adult. She'd left home at sixteen to become a code breaker. She was twenty-two now. Her father hadn't gotten to buy her her first alcoholic drink, her mum hadn't gotten to choose her outfit for her first date. So many milestones missed. So many years they'd never get back.

"Figured you'd be here," Gene said softly. Then, after a beat, "You're thinkin' real hard over there."

She didn't look up, because she'd heard his footsteps and knew that it would be him. She nodded and wiped away that single tear. "Just remembering."

"Home?"

She nodded. "Thinking about my family."

"Tell me about 'em."

At this, she smiled softly. "I was thinking about how, when we were little, my brother and I used to play at being fighter pilots. He'd win, most of the time, but sometimes he'd let me win and pretend it'd been fair and square, even though it hadn't. He's a year older than me, and I like to think he's a pilot now, too. I left before the war broke out so I don't know if he is, but that's what I like to imagine."

When she looked at Gene, who had come to sit beside her, he was watching her with a gentle smile. She smiled back and turned to look straight ahead before continuing.

"My papa was always quite closed off. He was never really affectionate or anything, but he really adored my mum. He's French, which is why I grew up in France. He was from Paris, and my mum always wanted desperately to go there, but he never took us. I've been since, obviously, but I've only ever seen it in wartime.

"My mum was British, hence why we moved to London," she went on. "She was a nurse in the Great War and that's where she met my papa. She was the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Really, really gorgeous. And so elegant, and kind, and selfless. She had the brightest blue eyes in the world. She was... everything I wanted to be when I grew up."

Gene smiled. "I bet she'd be proud of you."

Jules laughed a little bit. "Don't, because you'll make me cry again."

He laughed and took ahold of her hand, which had her eyes shooting up to his face curiously; he never really tended to initiate physical affection. He wasn't looking at her anymore, though. But he was still smiling.

"I talked to Talbert," he said simply. He didn't look back at her but he squeezed her hand, which eased her nerves a little bit.

"What did he say?" she asked quietly, still watching his profile.

Gene shrugged. "All the guys were askin' him whether you and him..." The horror. "He said he just walked you home and that was it. He told me somethin' had you sad."

Floyd was too kind for his own good. Her heart was filled with love for him.

"Alex," she said, and looked away. "I was sad about Alex."

She could feel Gene watching her in profile, now. She shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. She couldn't hide it from him. "I kissed him. Floyd, that is. Or he kissed me, but it doesn't really matter. I shouldn't have done it, and I know that, but I did."

Gene nodded and didn't say anything. But he didn't let go of her hand.

"I've been making some terrible decisions lately," she said eventually. She shook her head. "I don't really know why. I think I'm just feeling really... lost."

"What are you afraid of?"

When she looked at him he was already looking at her. She didn't look away this time. "So many things."

"Alright. What are they?"

Jules laughed quietly. "Okay. I'll start at the bottom and work my way up." He nodded, so she said, "Number five is I'm afraid of growing old."

Gene laughed, eyebrows hopping up. "Really? Growin' old?"

She nodded, giggling a little bit. "I'm so scared of ageing. It's a bit silly, but it's true." She shrugged.

"Alright, what's next?"

"Disappointing my parents. I think I've already done that, otherwise it'd be further up the list, but I think some part of me still holds out hope. They'll never know what I've done, of course, but... I don't know. I just want them to be proud of me."

Gene nodded. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

"Next is... this one's stupid, so brace yourself. But I'm scared of dying. I tell myself that I'm not but I am. I _really_ am." She shook her head. "It terrifies me every time I see someone die. And I see it a lot." _I cause it a lot._

"That's not stupid," Gene protested quietly, and his eyes just always looked so kind. So gentle. She could've just drowned in those eyes. "I think everyone's scared of dyin'."

She shook her head. "Alex wasn't. He was a fighter to the end. Right before he went he wasn't so much sad about dying as he was about leaving us all behind. Okay, I have to stop talking about this now or I'll cry again and I really need to stop crying." She gave a bitter laugh and Gene squeezed her hand again, so she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

"My second-worst fear is losing the people I care about. We lost our first CO quite early on, his name was Noah. He was my boyfriend at the time so it was really hard. It affected me for a while but it hadn't been long enough to affect any of us like it did with Alex. We'd been with Alex since the very beginning, the first ever mission, just over five years before. He'd held my hand right before the first jump because I was crying like a baby." She laughed, and so did Gene, a little bit. "I miss him so much. But if I lost Tom..."

She sniffled and felt Gene nod. "I know," he told her. "I know." He gave her hand another squeeze. After a beat he asked, "What's the first-worst? Your biggest fear?"

Jules chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before sucking in a steadying breath. "Being caught," she said, and even saying it sent a shiver down her spine. "Well, being caught and not being able to use the cyanide. Oh, I'm not supposed to tell you how we bail out. Forget I said that." Gene chuckled a little bit, which made her smile. "Anyway, being caught and not being able to kill myself first. No one really knows what happens when you're caught, but I saw a female spy about a day after she'd been caught and they'd ruined her. They hadn't even laid a hand on her but she was in bits. I am absolutely _terrified_ of being caught."

A silence fell over them, each considering the words she'd just said. Juliette was mildly surprised she'd bared so much of her soul to him in one sitting, but at the same time she wasn't; something about Gene made her feel safe enough to confess everything.

After a little while Gene spoke up again.

"Juliette," he said quietly, and she sat up straight. Her wide eyes locked on his, her mouth falling open before drawing up into a smile. He never said her name.

He was smiling too. "Do you trust me?"

Jules smiled. "I wouldn't have told you all that if I didn't."


	21. The Human Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail, there is a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out no matter how dark the world becomes." - Leo Tolstoy

As soon as the door has slammed behind the hauptsturmführer, the French Resistance woman who sometimes translates my confessions places a gentle hand on my back. I almost want to flinch, because it's the first time someone has touched me without malicious intent in _so long_. But I'm so weak that I don't.

"Did he kiss you?" she whispers to me in French, wary of the guards still standing at the walls. "Your American boy, did he kiss you?"

I'm still gasping for breath and dripping wet from where the hauptsturmführer almost drowned me in a bucket of freezing water. Still, I smile a little bit. She means Gene.

I shake my head. "No. He didn't."

I wrote the entirety of my last few confessions in French, which was a bad idea, really, because the hauptsturmführer hasn't been in a good mood recently. But even though he tried to drown me, I think it was a little bit worth it. The French Resistance woman (I'm not allowed to know her name) has been beaten black and blue, but I think she gets fewer punishments when she's called upon to translate my confessions. Sometimes, when I haven't been tortured so badly in a few days, I deliberately write in French so that she'll get to spend a few days translating instead of being beaten. I don't know if she knows this, but she's always very kind to me, so I think maybe she suspects as much.

"What happened next, then?" she asks. Her voice is still a whisper but she's rubbing my back soothingly now. I think she doesn't care so much whether the guards punish her for it, so she's decided to be bold. The guards don't really seem to be paying much attention to us at all, though, so she's in the clear for the moment. We both are.

"He -" I begin, but I'm interrupted by my own choking cough. I can still feel the burn of water in my lungs. "He said that if I trust him then I can trust that that fear - number one - won't come true." I smile with a sort of regretful irony; Gene had had such good intentions when he said that, and there was truly no way he could've known. There was no way I could've known, either. I shudder to imagine that Tom has told him the truth because I know Gene remembers that conversation, and I know he'd remember that being captured is - was - my worst fear.

Well, at least that's one less thing to be afraid of. KZs are my number one now, skyrocketing up from the very bottom because I had no idea what they were before I came here. God, it doesn't bear thinking about.

When I glance up at the Resistance woman she's smiling sadly, and she rubs my back once more. "Good intentions," she tells me, and I nod. He always had good intentions.

When the door slams open again the woman springs back from me, or stumbles back, really - in any case she moves away as fast as she can with the extreme bruising she's obtained. Hauptsturmführer Becker wears an icy scowl, and I feel my heart sink. What will it be this time? He's already tried to drown me.

"So much wasted time," he says. My blood runs cold in my veins. He always punishes me worse when I write in French. I continue to make the conscious decision to do it but every time he comes to punish me I'm crippled with terror and regret. Oh, God, I'm too stupid for my own good. A pit of dread opens up in my stomach and I feel the urge to be violently sick, but they'd only stop my food for three days if I was, so I fight to keep it down at all costs.

The hauptsturmführer slams the door behind him and when he turns he has a bucket in his hands. I instantly feel myself start to sob. I _hate_ the carbolic. I can't do it again. I hate it so much. _I hate it so much._

He places the bucket on the floor and draws out a lighter. Now I feel the vomit actually come because only now do I know what that is and it is worse than carbolic acid.

When the two guards slam me back into my chair the hauptsturmführer laments his disgust at my being sick on the floor, and I have to breathe so heavily through my nose to not do it again. That, however, isn't so helpful, because the scent of petrol is so pungent just smelling it makes me feel lightheaded. Or maybe that's the fear, knowing that he plans to literally light me up from the inside.

When my head is forced back and the hauptsturmführer comes closer I let out an almighty scream. "Don't do it! Don't do it! Don't do it!" I plead, ugly sobs wracking my body. "Have pity! Please! Have _mercy_!"

"Why _should_ I have mercy on you?!" Hauptsturmführer Becker demands. He spits at my feet.

I look down at him from where my head is still held firmly tilted skyward, tears streaming down my cheeks. _"Because I'm a human being!"_

I am dead shocked when that stops him in place. Stunned. Not only does his step falter but he goes entirely still.

The only sounds in the room are my heavy panting and the dripping of the gasoline off of the bottom of the bucket.

In silence, he picks up the bucket and leaves the cell, slamming the door behind him. When the guards release me I slump forwards in my chair, my relief so heavy it is all-encompassing. I can't believe that worked. I can't _believe_ that worked.

When, eventually, I muster the strength to lift my head back up, the Resistance woman is trying to muster her best smile for me. I appreciate the effort. She inclines her head in the direction of the table I use to write my confessions and holds out the pencil towards me, a sort of offering. I try to nod. She hobbles over to me and helps me out of my chair and across the room; even though she hardly has the strength to cross the room herself, she uses whatever she has left to help me. That is compassion, kindness, and selflessness in their purest forms. She places the pencil directly in my hand so I can begin to write.


	22. Such Sweet Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,  
> That I shall say good night till it be morrow."  
> \- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Juliette, Will, and Martin were all lounging in the living room when Tom entered, rather unceremoniously, to tell them they had new orders.

"We're jumping with the paratroopers again," he explained, holding up the envelope which contained their mission details. "Which means yet another wave of secret revealing. We should've just told the replacements from the start."

"What's the job?" Will asked.

"Operation Market Garden," Tom said. He looked down at the pieces of paper he was holding on top of the envelope. "We'll be jumping into Holland. Their job is to liberate Eindhoven and create an invasion route into northern Germany."

"How exciting," Martin commented drily.

"Unlike D-Day, this is a British plan -" Tom was interrupted by cheers, "and Montgomery is leading the Airborne part of it."

"Got to love old Monty," Jules said with a wry grin. "What will we be doing?"

"Well," Tom began, which already didn't bode well, "HQ has received reports from the vast majority of agents operating in the Netherlands that they're in dire need of reinforcements. We'll be jumping with the Americans so that the Germans don't pick up on any new spies entering Holland, and we'll help the yanks until they reach Eindhoven. From then on we have to hook up with another agent who'll give us further orders. It's the nature of the situation in Holland that information being passed via radio is limited. It's safest that it's passed on by word of mouth.

"We are, however," Tom continued, "being told to bring as many weapons as we can manage, so I reckon it'll have a bit to do with weaponising the Dutch resistance."

Jules hummed. "Good for them."

"Will we be sitting in on another yank briefing to break the news?" Will wondered.

"What, the news that we're gatecrashing again?" Tom asked with a laugh. "Probably. I'll have to talk to Nixon about it."

Jules shrugged. "Won't be as good a reaction as last time. We don't really know any of the replacements."

Tom nodded solemnly. "Most unfortunate."

Juliette and Thomas ventured out together a little while later in search of Nixon. They found him, as always, accompanied by Winters. Jules smiled when she saw Harry Welsh with them too. She had become rather fond of him.

"Harry!" she exclaimed as soon as she knew she was close enough for him to hear her.

"Jules!" he called back, mimicking her voice. She rolled her eyes. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asked with a grin.

"Do you know about Operation Market Garden yet?"

"Thomas!" Jules exclaimed and thumped him on the arm. "For a spy you're awfully good at being anything but discreet."

Nixon laughed. "Yeah, we just found out. We hear you're jumping with us again. Might as well make you honourary members of the company at this point."

"Thought we already were," Tom replied with a grin.

"We wanted to know whether we need to be there when you brief the enlisted," Jules went on to explain, looking to Nixon expectantly.

Nixon began to smirk. "The replacements don't know about you yet, do they?" Both Tom and Jules shook their heads. "Right, in that case then yes. I'll introduce you just like with D-Day, it'll be a lotta fun." He was wearing that cheeky grin again at the mere thought of eliciting a similar reaction to the one they'd gotten with their first reveal. Jules laughed.

"When's the briefing?" Tom asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Nixon shrugged and looked to Winters, who rolled his eyes. "2000 hours tonight," Winters told them. "Over in one of the tents we're using on the other side of the village."

"It's a date," Tom told him with a rakish grin which made Jules laugh. The pair of them bid the trio of officers goodbye and started back on their way across the village.

On their journey they came across none other than George Luz, who was wearing the same grin as always.

"You'll never guess what happened at the pub last night," he said after he'd approached them.

His smile was infectious, so Jules began smiling too. "What?"

"Buck and I won two packs of smokes off of Babe and Toye by pretending we're bad at darts."

Tom and Jules both let out low whistles. "Maybe you should be the spies, not us," Tom said with a laugh.

George brushed him away, still grinning. "Aw, stop, I'm blushin'." He looked behind him at a few of the other paratroopers before turning back, much less smiley. "We're, uh, movin' out again. Won't be coming back to England this time."

Jules giggled. "Aw, don't be so sad, George. We're coming with you."

"Jules!" Tom exclaimed, turning to her in astonishment. "You _just_ told me off for not being discreet!"

"Well, this is George," she reasoned with a shrug. "Plus, he'll find out in a few hours anyway."

George was back to grinning again. "So you're jumping with us again?"

"Don't tell anyone," Tom told him, but he nodded. "We won't be with you the whole time - for us it's more of a way to get into occupied Holland without the elevated risk of being caught on site."

George nodded his understanding. "So after that that's it then?"

This sudden realisation was jarring and infinitely sadder than Jules had been expecting. She hadn't really put two and two together. "I suppose it is," she said, looking to Tom instinctively.

Tom nodded. They would have no real reason to stick with the company after they'd gotten their orders, and where they would be coming back to Aldbourne afterwards, the Americans wouldn't.

Jules had known there would come an end to their time with the yanks, but she hadn't thought it'd be so soon.

"When's the jump?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing together. She suddenly had the feeling that she was really running out of time.

"Two days' time," Tom replied, "but they're being locked into the airfield again tomorrow for secrecy purposes."

Jules nodded. "Right."

Tom laughed a little bit. "Got someone to see?"

"Always," she replied through a laugh. She turned to George and gave him a quick hug, bidding him goodbye and promising Tom she'd see him back at the house. She then headed back the way she'd just come, in search of a couple of Americans she still had things to say to.

She found one of them relatively quickly. "Floyd!"

The man in question turned immediately at the sound of his name, and smiled when he saw her. "Hey, Jules," he said, nodding to the group he was with before approaching her. "Decided you wanna try again?" If he hadn't been Floyd and if his tone hadn't been so clearly joking she would've really hit him.

"Shut up," she told him, but she was grinning. "Don't tell anyone, but I have foreknowledge of your next jump. We'll be jumping with you again but after that we'll be going our separate ways. I wanted to thank you again before we're back in a war zone."

Floyd brushed her away immediately. "Ah, come on. You don't gotta keep thankin' me."

Jules laughed. "Well, I really am grateful for what you did. So thank you all the same. Plus, I'll miss you a lot when you're gone."

"You mean when _you're_ gone," he corrected, smirking. "Off doing whatever it is spies do these days."

Jules shook her head. "No, I mean when _you're_ gone. We'll be coming back to Aldbourne. You won't." The thought of Aldbourne without the Americans was so suddenly sad she could feel tears spring to her eyes, but she pushed them back immediately; they still had some time left.

Floyd nodded. "True enough. Don't pick up any boys from the pub without me. That's _our_ thing," he said.

Jules hit him lightly on the arm. "Would you sod off?! I'm trying to be nice!"

Floyd was laughing, and he shook his head at her. "If what you're trying to say is you'll miss me then I'll miss you too."

Juliette smiled and pulled him into a hug. Everything felt like it was ending much too fast.

When they pulled back he had his eyebrows furrowed. "Did you ever talk to the doc?"

"Hm," she hummed. "Kind of. I'm off to see him next."

Floyd rolled his eyes. "Tell him."

"I will!"

"I'm serious!"

"And so am I!" she replied, laughing. "Bye, Floyd. I'll see you tonight."

"That sounds much more romantic than you think it does," he commented through a smirk. She laughed but didn't turn around.

Now to find the second American she needed to see, who tended to be harder to find when she was actively seeking him out, but very easy to bump into.

As fate had it, she was wandering around for about fifteen minutes before she found Gene. She came upon him speaking to another medic, and was content to stand a ways away and pretend she wasn't waiting for him whilst he finished his conversation. Gene, however, knew her too well, and as soon as he noticed her leaning against a brick wall he ended his conversation politely and made his way over.

"Gene," she greeted with a smile, standing up straight as he approached her.

"Chérie," he replied, and she laughed.

"Not Juliette anymore?"

"Thought you liked when I call you chérie." He looked amused.

Jules giggled. "No, I do. I do." She shook her head. "I've heard you're moving out again."

He nodded, and his small smile fell. "We won't be comin' back this time." Straightforward, no beating around the bush.

Jules nodded, smiling slightly. "So I've heard. Not to worry, though, because we'll be jumping with you."

His eyebrows shot up comically fast. "You will?"

She was grinning now, purely because of his reaction. "Yeah. Can't tell you why, but you're going to be briefed on it later. We won't be with you for too long because we have our own orders, but it's a bit of extra time, at least."

He nodded, that tiny smile having disappeared again. "So next time you come back to England we won't be here."

Jules laughed a little bit though there was a discernible twinge of melancholy audible in it. "Don't make me cry, please." She shook her head. "Our field won't be the same without you."

" _Our_ field?" he echoed, a smile tugging at his lips.

She laughed and looked away. "Yeah. That's how I think of it. Don't tell me you've been entertaining other girls there, too."

Gene laughed. "No, just you."

"Good." When she looked back at him he was watching her. She looked down at her shoes with a sad little laugh. "When we first came here I actively tried to avoid you lot, you know. I thought you were all just a bunch of rowdy Americans, cocky and loud and overly confident. Who would've thought I'd be so sad to say goodbye?"

Gene chuckled lightly and took ahold of one of her hands, which drew her eyes up to his. "It ain't goodbye yet," he said wisely.

She laughed and looked down. "No, you're right. I seem to have adopted a habit for being sad."

When she looked back up at him he looked sad, too, so she hugged him tightly. "I don't want you to go," she said into his shoulder, eyes filled with tears that she begged not to fall. Suddenly, she realised, it was much too late for them. She had wasted so much time in worrying about the past that she had ruined everything with him. She could kiss him now and tell him everything and it would only be more painful because she'd never get to do it again.

"Chérie," she heard him mutter. He tucked his face into her shoulder, too.

"Don't go," she said quietly, and that made a tear slip out, because of course he had to go. It wasn't up to him. "Gene, don't go."

"Chérie," he said again, and she really willed herself not to cry. He had never seen her properly cry and she didn't want to change that now.

When she sniffled, entirely accidentally, he pulled back only slightly and his expression softened. He tilted his head to the side, a frown on his lips, and gently wiped her tears away. "Don't cry," he said. She laughed sadly, because that was so sweet it really wasn't helping. "Don't cry. We've still got time."

But they didn't. Not really.

When he cupped her face gently in his hands she was silently begging him to kiss her. She wouldn't do it herself, because it would be too painful a memory to look back on; getting to taste the forbidden fruit once, but never again. That would be too hard. But she thought that if he did it then that would be okay. That would be something lovely that she could remember. Still painful, but she could never be disappointed with him, even if he did something that inflicted pain on her.

He leant down, eyes flicking between her eyes and her lips, and she held her breath because finally, _finally_ , this was it. He was going to kiss her and it would never happen again but at least she would know what it was like. And when she was back in occupied Europe she would be able to smile at the memory and say that once upon a time she had been kissed by the most beautiful boy in the world, and how precious that had been.

Juliette was watching his eyes closely, even when they closed. She closed hers, too, and right before their lips were about to meet he pulled back suddenly. She dropped her head and sighed, still holding onto him.

It would never happen for them, but at least she could be content in the knowledge that in some other place and at some other time, it would have. That was more than she deserved, at least.

"Gene," she whispered when he looked away. He removed his hands from her face and took a step back, which hurt more than everything put together.

"We can't," he said simply, staring at a single magpie that was sitting on a rooftop a little ways away. "It'd..." he trailed off.

"Be too painful," she finished for him quietly. She was watching that same magpie now, too.

"But..." he started, and she nodded. _But he wants to, and that's enough. It has to be enough._

"Chérie," he said after a short pause, and let his eyes go back to her. "Juliette."

She shook her head, but she was smiling a little bit. "Don't make me cry." _Again._

He let out a short laugh. "I..." Then he sighed, and when she looked back at him he was smiling. He took her hand once more. "You're beautiful."

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._

Jules shook her head again. "You have the most beautiful soul of anyone I've ever met," she told him, because it's true. "Will you think of me one day, when you're back home? Just once in a while?"

Gene nodded. "I'll have a hard time thinkin' of anythin' else." This made her giggle. "Will you think of me when you're back home, too?"

There were no traces of a smile now. "I'll think of you until my dying moment," she promised instead, because she knew she'd never go back home. He seemed to understand her meaning anyway.

And that was it. There was nothing else, really, to say, and that seemed to be a good place to leave it.

Juliette got up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving her lips to linger there for a few moments before she pulled back. When she stood before him once more, holding onto both of his hands tightly, she silently willed him to smile. She wanted so desperately for him to give her that beautiful, earnest smile once more. And he did.

She gave him one back, which she knew wasn't even half as special, but his eyes softened anyway. She squeezed his hands and he squeezed them back and then she turned to walk away, knowing that they still had a bit of time but understanding that that was it for them, really. And she wanted to have their goodbye be in Aldbourne, where it had all started, as opposed to in an airfield surrounded by buzzing nerves and loud soliders, or in Holland where she had no idea what would happen.

Jules had no idea how time had passed her by so quickly. It seemed like just yesterday she was arriving in Aldbourne in the early hours of the morning, so excited to be back on home soil and, above all, trepidatious about the Americans. She thought of the first time she had met Gene, so unaware of all he would come to mean to her, and smiled slightly.

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._


	23. Lilacs in a Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some words are doomed like lilacs in a storm." - Alejandra Pizarnik, Night, The Poem

In the hour before loading onto the planes for Operation Market Garden, the airfield was buzzing with energy. From where she was checking over Tom's jump gear Jules was listening in on Babe and Bill's conversation.

"And you're sure she's a spy?" she heard Babe say. She laughed to herself.

"God damn it, Heffron, _yes_ ," Bill replied, his voice full of exasperation. "She jumped on D-Day with us. Came back to camp in a fuckin' kraut uniform. Ain't no doubt about it."

"She don't look like a spy," Babe muttered. When Jules felt his eyes on her she shot him a smile. "Wait -" Babe then said, looking back to Bill. "A kraut uniform? What was she doin' in a kraut uniform?"

Bill shrugged. "Hey, Jules!" he called. As she approached she already knew what was coming. "Why were you wearin' that kraut uniform on D-Day?"

Juliette shrugged. "I used it to go undercover."

"Undercover _where_? There were krauts all over the damn place," Bill pressed.

She rolled her eyes with a small laugh. "German intelligence outpost about half a mile from Utah Beach. Don't tell anyone I told you though." She sent Bill a grin and Babe a wink and made to turn back to Tom, but Bill's voice pulled her back.

"See, Heffron, what you gotta understand about these spies is that they're fuckin' nuts. I found Will on the ground re-wiring a fuckin' radio as if there weren't krauts shootin' at him a meter away. Fuckin' nuts, Babe, I'm tellin' ya."

Jules grinned. "It's one of the requirements for the job. When a man you've never seen before pulls you aside in a hallway and asks you if you want to train to do something you're not even allowed to know about, you have to be absolutely insane to say yes. Off-your-head mad."

Bill laughed. "And she can sure chuck 'em back in a drinking contest. You ain't never seen anythin' like it."

Juliette laughed and then smiled sadly, because she would never do that with them again. Never again would she have a night out in a pub in Aldbourne with her favourite yanks, and that was so sad she could hardly bear it.

Before she left Jules patted Babe on the shoulder and shot him a smile. "Don't worry, Babe. Bill'll look after you. Make sure he tells you everything he knows."

"Hey, which plane you in, sweetheart?" Bill called after her.

"I'm with Welsh," she told him with a small smile and a shrug. "Sorry."

"Tom?" he asked.

"Winters."

Bill nodded, and as she went to walk away, his voice called her back yet again. "Hey, see ya on the ground, sweetheart."

She laughed and sent him a smile. "See you on the ground."

When Jules got back to her boys, she found Will struggling with his webbing. He always hated the webbing he had to use when they jumped with the paratroopers because his equipment was so much better suited to his normal, specially-designed jump gear, but that was black and therefore unusable in such circumstances. She laughed to herself before going over to adjust it for him.

Will looked around at the airfield as she fiddled with the webbing and adjusted the straps, her lips pursed in concentration. After a small while, she heard him let out a small laugh in the form of a puff of air. "Gene's watching you," he said simply. She paused.

"Don't stare back at him," she said, fighting a smile. She didn't tear her eyes away from Will's webbing, only continued to adjust it, but she was blushing now. All of a sudden she wished she was wearing that same black paint they'd had to wear on D-Day.

Will dutifully turned his eyes away, and looked down at her curiously. "Have you kissed him yet?"

"No," was all she said. He didn't ask anything more.

When she was done with his webbing she took a step back and smiled in accomplishment, pushing loose strands of hair back behind her ears. "I'm so brilliant at that," she said, referring to her skills in adjusting webbing. Will laughed.

Juliette felt something poke her back and whirled around to find Tom standing there, holding out her helmet with a roll of his eyes. "If you leave this helmet somewhere _one more time_ , Jules, I swear -"

Jules only laughed and took it from him, holding it by the chin strap and leaving it to dangle at her side. She tapped him hard on the head, laughing when his helmet covered his eyes, and immediately ran to hide behind Martin, giggling all the while.

Martin rolled his eyes, but he was laughing. "You're such a child."

Tom sent her a scowl, which made her grin, but then his attention was drawn away. "Hey, look! That's Sobel. Used to be the Easy Company CO before he got transferred. I suppose he's a supply officer now."

Martin chuckled. "With everything I've heard about him, good bloody riddance."

"Oh, Popeye's back!" Jules exclaimed, a smile finding her as she watched him jump off of the troop truck. He had been shot on D-Day and at the hospital ever since, and from the looks of how he was hobbling along with the help of Lipton he hadn't necessarily been allowed out. She was almost certain he'd gone AWOL.

"He was probably worried about being reassigned," Tom commented, watching Popeye as well.

"It's gonna be strange coming back here without the yanks," said Will.

Juliette felt her heart squeeze again. Her eyes sought out Gene across the way entirely instinctively, but she looked away as soon as they'd made contact. Looking at him now was much too difficult, because all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and beg him to stay.

"Yeah," Tom said.

Jules came up behind Thomas and rested a hand on his shoulder; whilst she certainly had people she was going to miss, he had been friends with the yanks longer than any of them. It was going to be hard on him, too.

"Do you think..." Will started, before cutting himself off to think over whether he should actually be asking this. After a few moments' contemplation he sighed, removed his helmet, and continued, "Do you think we should say goodbye now? We don't really know how much time we'll have on the ground."

Jules and Tom looked to each other instinctively. She tried to offer him a smile. Eventually, he nodded. "Yeah," Tom said, his voice emerging hoarse. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea."

Each of the four split off to say their goodbyes separately, and Jules made a beeline for George. When she came upon him he was chatting with Alton More, who sent her a smile and a nod before leaving them to it. She had never really spoken to More, although she knew he was well-liked among the company. She was grateful for his silent understanding then.

"Hey, Jules," George greeted with his characteristic grin. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Juliette smiled back at him. "We don't know how much time we're going to have on the ground. We figured it's probably a good idea to say goodbye now, properly, while we still have the chance."

George shook his head. "Hey, don't get all emotional on me, now, or I'll cry too."

Jules laughed and he pulled her into a hug. She laughed when he patted her on the back.

"I'll miss you trying to set me up with your friends," she said, which made him chuckle.

"I'll miss laughing with you," he replied.

"Oh, don't," Jules said with a shake of her head. "I can't stop crying recently."

George laughed and pulled back, a sad smile on his face. She really would miss him so much.

"Come to the States someday, alright? Look me up in Rhode Island."

Jules giggled, her eyes glassy. "Rhode Island. I'll remember that."

"You better."

She sought out Floyd next, even though she'd kind of said goodbye to him already. She found him with Shifty and Skinny and smiled, because she had wanted to find them, too.

"I wanted to say goodbye before we jumped," she said when they all turned to her. "We don't know how much time we'll have on the ground."

"Come here," Floyd said and grabbed her in a tight hug. "Don't cry, now."

She giggled and sniffled a little bit. "I'm not, I swear."

"Yeah, sure," he retorted.

She hugged Shifty next, who gave her just about the sweetest smile she'd ever seen when he pulled away. "It's been lovely knowin' you, miss."

Jules giggled. "It's been lovely knowing you too, Shifty."

Skinny gave her a tight hug, too, and patted her on the back once they'd pulled apart. "Stay safe."

She nodded. "You too, Skinny."

Then it was Skip, Penkala, and Malarkey who were breaking her heart. They bundled her into a group hug the moment she'd said that she was there to say goodbye. She would miss that trio and their antics.

When they all pulled back she had to wipe her eyes. "You lot stay exactly as you are for the rest of your lives, okay? Absolutely never change."

Malarkey scruffed up her hair. "Yeah, you too, Jules."

When she sought out Liebgott he gave her a smirk and a wink before uncharacteristically giving her a hug. She had absolutely no idea when she'd become so fond of him.

"You take care of yourself, alright, doll?" he told her afterwards.

Juliette nodded. "You too, Joe. I want you to go home in one piece."

He nodded and gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder before he had to continue getting ready to jump.

Upon seeing him again, Jules gave Babe a quick hug but she hadn't really known him very well or for very long, so the last people she really needed to find were Bill and Toye. Thankfully, they weren't far from Babe at all.

"What's got ya sad, sweetheart?" Bill asked when he saw her approach.

She gave a half-shrug. "We've decided to say goodbye now, while we've still got time."

He chuckled. "I know. We just saw Tom. But why the hell are you cryin'?"

She giggled and hugged him tightly. "Shut up. You can be such a git sometimes."

She hugged Toye next and afterwards he gave her a very kind smile, which made her smile back.

"I'll miss you two," she said.

Toye laughed. "Well, miss us enough to come visit, then."

Jules shook her head with a giggle. "George has already told me to come to Rhode Island. Anywhere else I should be going?"

"South Philly," Bill said immediately with a wink. "You'll love it. I bet you're a Philly girl at heart."

"I'm sure I am."

"Pennsylvania," Toye added immediately afterwards.

Jules nodded. "I'll remember." Realistically, she knew she wouldn't have to; it was still so unlikely she'd live to see the end of the war. Still, she _wanted_ to remember, as a sort of ode to how much she loved them. Louisiana, Rhode Island, Philadelphia, and Pennsylvania had produced some of the finest men she'd ever known, and she wanted to remember that.

As fate had it, Jules ended up seated next to George in the plane, and as soon as he sat down he gave her hand a squeeze. One last jump and that would be it. Goodbye forever. It was too much to bear.

Jules forced herself to think about what she was doing instead of about the fact that so many things were ending. She closed her eyes and went over her plan for the ground, replaying it over and over in her head if only just to give herself something to do.

When she jumped, it was something special. She could see all of the paratroopers around her floating safely to the ground in broad daylight, a direct contrast to the chaos and darkness of the jump on D-Day. As she looked around at them all she made sure to lock the image into the back of her mind. She wanted to remember this.

Jules hit the ground hard and rolled out her momentum, immediately unhooking her parachute and rolling it up so the wind didn't try to blow it away. She met up with Tom, Will, and Martin quickly and they set off with the paratroopers towards their meeting point, on their way to liberate Eindhoven.


	24. The Distinguishing Mark of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The distinguishing mark of man is the _hand_ , the instrument with which he does all his mischief." - George Orwell, Animal Farm

Eindhoven, as it turned out, didn't actually need to be liberated by the time they got there. One woman hanging an orange flag outside of her house told them all they needed to know: the Germans had already fled.

By the time the presence of American troops had become common knowledge, the streets of the city were filled to bursting with Dutch citizens, waving flags and sweeping the Americans up into their revelry. There was music playing, people were dancing, and the paratroopers were gaining themselves lipstick marks on every available patch of skin.

Juliette stuck close behind Thomas with Will behind her and Martin at the back. They had had to remove their helmets to draw less attention to themselves in the crowd, and Jules tried to keep her head down lest anyone start asking questions as to why there was a girl in their midst dressed like a paratrooper.

The four of them quickly managed to slip away from the crowd, darting into a road leading off from the main one and then navigating via alleyways. Right before leaving the revels and celebrations behind, Jules stole one final look back at the crowd, searching for the yanks scattered in amongst it. It was better this way, she knew; they would slip out unnoticed and the Americans wouldn't even know they were gone until much, much later. Still, she hadn't expected their entrance into Eindhoven to be so easy, and, ultimately, so quick. This really was it.

Their contact was a British spy who had been operating in Eindhoven throughout the entirety of its occupation. She met the group next to a letter box on a street tucked out of the way, just as they had been told she would, and led them into where she had been staying whilst undercover.

"I have clothes for you all to change into. There'll be no easy way to blend in dressed like that," she said with a small laugh.

The woman showed Juliette to a bedroom and handed her a red dress, fashionable but relatively plain, as well as a pair of heeled shoes and a red ribbon to tie in her hair. And, of course, some lipstick. "I'm sorry about the lack of eye makeup," the woman told her apologetically. "It's been especially hard to get ahold of recently."

Jules nodded and gave her a grateful smile. "Oh, that's okay. Thank you for all of this, it's really more than enough."

Juliette made quick work of getting out of her ODs, not thinking too hard on the fact that that was the last time she'd ever wear them, and changed into her dress. She tied the front of her hair back with the ribbon, brushed on the lipstick, put on her heels, and all of a sudden she was an entirely normal Dutch citizen - which, thinking about it, was actually a bit of a problem, because she really didn't speak too much Dutch.

When she came back down into the living room the boys were all already waiting. The woman turned once she heard her enter.

"Unfortunately, I'm not the one you need to speak to where your orders are concerned," she began once they were all gathered. "The rest of my team are waiting with a Dutch Resistance contact, so if you bring the weapons you've got we can head there directly."

Jules, Tom, Will, and Martin each picked up their bags full of various types of ammunition and weaponry and followed the woman back out of the front door, leaving their ODs and helmets behind.

It was only a short walk before they came upon a small café, deserted aside from a group of people sat at a table in the back. It was almost entirely wooden inside and had a rustic sort of feel. In the absence of any other patrons it was almost eerie, the quiet only punctuated by the distant sounds of whoever was working in the back bustling around.

The woman led the four of them in and they sat at the table in silence. After a few moments the man with the orange band tied around his forearm spoke. "I understand you have weapons for us?"

They each nodded and slid the bags under the table towards him. He discreetly unzipped one of them and nodded his approval at the contents before zipping it back up and turning to them again. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "This means a great deal to the Resistance."

Tom smiled at him. "We're happy to help." Then he looked from the man to the three other men gathered at his side. "Apparently you have our orders?"

One of them, a slight, blond man, nodded curtly. He glanced back over each shoulder to make sure they were entirely alone before removing a piece of paper from his pocket and spreading it out across the table.

"The reason why every spy in the Netherlands has been calling for reinforcements is because the Germans are trying to round us all up," he began to explain. "A lot of the captured have been able to bail out, but, naturally, there are a few who didn't get so lucky." He looked up at each of the four to ensure he had their full attention. "There is one very high value prisoner we need to get out. Our orders are to stay here and keep an eye on Eindhoven, so that's why we're passing this on to you. The prisoner is due to be transported from where they're currently being held here," he pointed to a building on the map which looked a lot like a hotel, "to Berlin tomorrow morning at 0800 hours."

Tom had a concentrated frown on his face. "What ideas do you have for the extraction?"

The blond man looked between each of them. "Which of you is the undercover specialist?"

"I am," Jules said, lifting a tentative hand to identify herself.

The man sent her a small nod of acknowledgement. "We want to send you into the building they're holding the prisoners in, a hotel about an hour outside of the city. You'll find their primary intelligence office and retrieve the details on where the prisoners are being held as well as a map of the building. That way, you can follow them to Berlin at a safe distance, undercover, and get our prisoner out relatively easily based on the layout of the building. As quickly as you can, ideally."

Juliette nodded. "When will the intelligence office be empty?"

"You'll have a window of about fifteen minutes at 0745, when they're preparing to transport the prisoners. We've got identification papers for you to get in and you'll be disguised as a maid. In the chaos of prisoner transportation there shouldn't be any guards on the door to the office. If there is, you'll just have to leave, but I'm almost one hundred percent sure that there won't be."

"Okay," she replied, running over the plan in her head.

"I'll leave you to work out the details," the blond man said to Tom, rising to his feet now. He shook Tom's hand over the table. "And, off the record, we really can't thank you enough."

Tom smiled. "As I said, we're happy to help."

When everyone else stood up, too, signalling the end of the small meeting, the blond man turned to Juliette. "Good luck," he said, offering a nod and a quick smile.

Jules smiled politely back at him. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

One of the men who had been sitting beside the blond man passed Juliette what looked to be an incredibly ordinary bag, and gestured to it once it was in her hands. "The maid uniform and identification papers you'll need are in there, as well as a map that tells you where to find the hotel and the layout of the building. That way you shouldn't have too much trouble finding the intelligence office."

Jules nodded. "Thank you."

The woman who had given them their clothes led them to a car and gave Tom the keys. "Take the back roads out of the city. We've outlined them on your map. The celebrations aren't likely to finish for another few hours yet, so that's your best bet for getting out of the city uninterrupted."

They each nodded to the woman and gave her a smile.

Just as Jules was about to get into the back of the car she felt a gentle hand on her wrist and turned back. The woman was smiling softly at her. "Be careful," she said. "And good luck."

Juliette smiled at her, "Thank you. You too," and got into the car. With that, the team of four drove away, navigating the backstreets of Eindhoven and leaving the city, on their way to rescue yet another prisoner.


	25. Tiger, Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tiger - tiger! Drop the bottle top! Drop it! We've had this date with each other from the beginning!" - Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

Juliette was jittery with nerves by the time 0739 rolled around. Crouched a small ways away from the hotel with Tom, she watched the guards at the door anxiously. Timing was key; she needed to be able to go directly to the intelligence office and arrive there at exactly 0745, but estimating how long it might take to get there was difficult.

Martin and Will were both already in place, set up on either side of the building out of sight. Will had his radio, listening in on the Nazis' correspondence and ready to transmit back to HQ in case anything went wrong, and Martin had his sniper rifle aimed at the guards at the back of the building, just in case they tried to interfere.

From where they were watching the front of the building, Tom and Jules couldn't see either of them, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that were both there, ready and waiting to give her backup if she needed it.

Tom lifted a hand and rested it gently on Juliette's shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance.

"Fifteen minutes, Jules," he said, sending her a smile. "Fifteen minutes. That's all it is. And if there are guards on the door or you can't find the plans then just leave. Don't put yourself at risk."

Juliette nodded. Really, this was one of the lowest-stakes missions she'd had in a long time where going undercover was concerned. All she had to do was try, and if it didn't work out then she had been given express permission, by both Tom and the CO of the other team of spies, to leave empty handed. Still, she could feel nerves flitting about in her stomach; she never had been a massive fan of rifling through people's things. It always seemed too easy to get caught.

As soon as Tom's watch struck 0740 he patted her once on the back and sent her a nod. "You've got this, Jules," he said, wearing a reassuring smile. He really didn't have a shadow of a doubt that anything would go awry, which made her want to feel confident, too. "I'll be right behind you when you come out."

Jules nodded and gave Tom her most winning smile. "See you in a bit, then."

He grinned. "See you in a bit."

Jules had to take a detour to get down to the hotel in order to not blow Tom's cover, but she got through the guards relatively easily. However they had come about them, the spies in Eindhoven had managed to acquire perfectly forged identity papers, even accompanied by a picture of her on them. Jules surmised that they must have been sent to them by HQ. Either way, the papers were so convincing, and so was the maid's uniform, that she got through both sets of guards, both outside and inside the doors, very quickly.

When she came upon the intelligence office at exactly 0745 it was locked, as she had expected, but at least there were no guards. The spy in Eindhoven had been correct; they were focusing all of their attention on the security of the prisoners. She removed the lock-pick disguised as a pin from her hair and made quick work of picking the lock. When the door swung open the office was empty. Now she just had to find what she needed.

Juliette headed straight for the desk, figuring that since the prisoners were being transported today then a map of the building they were headed to as well as information on where said building was were likely to have been recently used. She had to pick the locks on each of the drawers, but the locks were so flimsy it didn't take long.

The drawer she needed was at the bottom on the right, the last drawer she checked. When she found what she was looking for she drew the sheets of paper out with a grin. She held them up to see them better under the light from the window, just to make sure that they were the right ones, and whispered out a small 'yes!' to herself when she found that they were.

She closed the bottom drawer and stood up, folding up the papers and stuffing them into her maid's bag.

The door to the office opened behind her.

"Wer sind Sie?" the man demanded, his voice incredibly loud and incredibly ferocious.

Juliette froze.

The voice repeated its words once more, in Dutch this time. "Wie ben jij?!"

_Think, think, think,_ she begged herself silently, still refusing to turn around.

It was English, this time. "Who are you?!" He took a few steps towards her.

_Fight._ To go out fighting was the only way.

Juliette whirled around and slammed her knee into his groin. When he bowled over, she smashed her elbow into the centre of his spine. He screamed out his pain. When she was about to slit his throat three more guards burst in.

Such a compromising position. There was no lying that would help her this time.

"He tried to touch me," she told them in quick German, forcing herself to shake and cry. "He tried to -"

"Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?"

There really was no way of explaining why she was in there. _Shit, shit, shit. How are you going to lie your way out of this one?_

"He tried to seduce me," she explained in pleading French, big crocodile tears spilling from her eyes. "He took me here to - to -"

In the end, it was her mother tongue that gave her away. She had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to know French.

She was seized by the elbows before she could even register what she'd done, the maid's bag dropping to the floor. What a fatal error. What a tragic mistake. Juliette realised very quickly that there was no escaping this time. She fought with all of her strength against the arms that held her just so that she could reach for her cyanide. Why hadn't she done it earlier?

Stupid hope. She had always been too hopeful. She should have known sooner that this was it.

As soon as she had wrenched an arm free she tore at her necklace. The guard she'd broken free of ripped it from her grasp immediately. He threw it behind him and they dragged her outside.

There was a van waiting already, with four Nazis standing around it. It was almost like they had known. _An anonymous tip-off?_ she wondered. _A double agent? An inside source?_ There was no use worrying about it now. She had to focus all of her energy on working out how to escape, or how to die.

Juliette fought with everything she had inside of her, every last drop of energy, every last bit of strength, every single ounce of ferocity in her entire body. It was as though everything in her life had been leading up to this moment. She had been storing up energy and rage and fire for her entire life so that she could fight this final battle. And she fought with it all. If everything led to his, what could possibly follow after?

After a struggle that even stopped the guards in place, for she was that ferocious, she threw herself to the floor and scrambled to get away. They seized her again. They yanked her up by her arms so hard she thought her shoulders were about to dislocate. She dipped her head and bit the man on her right so viciously he screamed and she tasted blood, but the shoulder wasn't essential enough; it was all she could reach, but it wasn't enough to take him down or get him off.

She turned to try her luck with the other guard. The third seized her legs where they thrashed against the floor. She stilled suddenly. Her eyes locked onto one single beam of hope. One ray of glittering sunshine. One angel in the midst of hell.

Thomas.

Tom, watching from behind a car across the road with his gun in his hand and tears in his eyes. His face was full of such horror. There was nothing left to say.

As he raised the gun she nodded at him, tears beginning to spill out of her own eyes. Real tears this time. This was it. The final stand. She had gone out with a fight, and that was as good a way to go as any; with the blood of a Nazi in her mouth, and her feet still kicking. It was a proud way to die. A defiant one.

His hand shook as he aimed at her heart. She nodded once more, bottom lip wobbling all the while, to tell him that it was okay. She tried to smile, knowing that the guards weren't watching her face anymore. She willed him to smile back. _One last smile, Tom, please,_ she silently begged. _It's okay. It's okay. I want it to be you._

When Jules saw his finger move to the trigger she had to stifle a sob. It was okay, but it was still so scary. Would it hurt? Or would it be too quick to feel any pain?

Another stifled sob, and she forced that smile back onto her face. Her eyes hadn't left his once. Those precious green eyes. The eyes of her best friend in the world. "I love you," she mouthed to him, because it was true. She had lied so, so much, but that, at least, was true. She loved him in the most desperate and most genuine way; as a brother. He was family in every single way except blood. They had been through it all together. She was glad that it would be him. "I love you," she repeated, nodding frantically to try to bid him to just do it. She was ready.

That was when he lowered the gun.

_No, no, no, Thomas. It was supposed to be you!_

A sick sense of relief had flooded her body, but dread filled its place almost instantly. Was she really that afraid to die? She knew that what came next would be worse.

_Don't leave me,_ she silently begged as she watched him return to where he'd been hiding.

And suddenly she was alone.

It was a funny feeling, being betrayed by your best friend. Juliette had never really known anything like it. It was an even funnier feeling to forgive him anyway. They had discussed it a million times over; if either of them were caught, and they couldn't use the cyanide, they would do it for each other. They had even discussed it in training, all those many years ago when they had first been assigned to the same team.

But Thomas couldn't do it. He had betrayed her. But she forgave him. Instantly. Just like always. Deep down she knew she couldn't have done it either, if it was him on the other end of the barrel. But, oh, God, what horror was waiting for her now?

-

I have to stop. I have to stop writing. This is too much. I feel like I'm writing my own death. I suppose I am, really. God, Thomas, why didn't you kill me? I am ruined. I am so ruined. I forgive you. Oh, I forgive you. A million times over I forgive you.

I miss him. Oh bloody hell, the tears are smudging the writing. I'll be burned for this but I can't stop crying. I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.


	26. Will I Never Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Will I never rest in sunlight again - slow, languid & golden with peace?" - Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

That's it. The end of my confessions. I've run out of time.

It has taken me four months to write everything out. I have now been here for five, or thereabouts. It feels like an absolute lifetime, but due to the nature of my confessions I think they let me outstay my welcome.

I am so afraid.

The doctor is coming tomorrow, which means I've run out of time on that front, too. I have a plan for how I'm going to knock myself unconscious but I'm really not sure it'll work. When the hauptsturmführer tried to drown me in that bucket of icy water it felt like my lungs were on fire. It was pain almost too much to bear. And yet, somehow, I've managed to convince myself that I'll be able to force myself to hold my breath for so long it knocks me out.

God, I'm hanging onto a really bloody thin thread of hope here. But I really, really hope it works. I can't imagine the hauptsturmführer won't send me to the KZ otherwise. This really is my only hope.

I haven't seen the French Resistance woman in a while, and that is mostly because I've been a coward. I've been writing in English. The hauptsturmführer has been particularly ruthless with his punishments lately and I _just couldn't help it_. That's no excuse, I know, and I feel rotten for it. But the smell and the burn and the taste of carbolic acid haunt me, every waking moment and every nightmare. I can't escape it, and that kills me. I really, really fear the carbolic now.

I really can't believe I've confessed everything now. It feels surreal, having written out the entirety of a year of my life. It seems strange to think that everything I wrote took place over the course of a single year. So much changed. Oh, if I could only turn back time. I resent the previous Juliette for feeling so hard done by back in Aldbourne when she had decided to stay away from Gene. That was such a stupid thing to do. God, that girl was so stupid. So stupid. She had no idea what she had. She was so caught up in complaining about everything she never realised that those days in Aldbourne were some of the best of her entire life - that they would be the last good days of her entire life.

I'm making myself cry again. That's one thing me and her have in common: the seeming inability to ever _stop bloody crying_. At least now I actually have things to cry about. God, this is so horrible. It's so horrible. This is no life at all.

I've spent the last few hours going over the final few pages of my confessions, writing over the words that have become illegible through my tears before Hauptsturmführer Becker sees them; he'll only be furious if there are words he can't read. The problem is, when I was writing over the tears there were fresh ones pouring back down onto the paper, so it wasn't really very worth it at all. But it made me happy to reread it - well, both happy and incredibly sad. I like to live in my memories now, but even some of those are sad.

I miss my boys so much. God, so much. More than I can even say. I miss Tom and his jokes, and Will and his obliviousness, and Martin and his sarcasm. I miss everything about them, and about being with them. I wonder if they even know that I'm still alive. They probably don't. There would be no way for them to know that, and I've been here far longer than they usually keep a spy in for interrogation. Bloody hell, do I miss those boys. I miss them something fierce. I would give anything to see them again, anything, but I'm not sure I could stomach it if they saw me.

I can hear the guards talking and apparently all of the prisoners are being forced to wash before the doctor comes - to keep up the appearance of humanity, perhaps. Oh, and apparently we'll get to change our clothes too. How generous. I wonder what they'll put me in. Something red, perhaps, so the doctor wont see all of the gushing blood?

Regardless, I am sick to the back teeth of this bloody maid's uniform. Sick of it. It was white when I got it, and now it's brown. That's so disgusting, I know, but I've been living on a floor for five bloody months. Five months. Jesus, that's a long time. That's such a long time. Feels like a long time, too.

Part of me hopes this doctor will just take one look at me and put me out of my misery. Actually, that's such a big part it's the entire thing. All of me hopes that. I know he won't, but I hope for it so badly.

I can't believe I ever thought my life was hard before this. How naïve, and stupid, and downright arrogant I was for thinking that. So bloody arrogant. But I miss being that way. I miss being naïve, and stupid, and arrogant, because at least then, when I was like that, part of me was happy. Part of me was so happy. I miss Aldbourne. No, you know what? I miss home. Actual home. London home, where I last saw my parents. I miss my parents. God, I want to go home. I want to go home so badly I can't even tell you. I know that makes me sound like a child but I don't care. If I could have one wish granted for me in the world it would be to go home and forget that any of this ever even happened.

I want to go home.


	27. I Tried to Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I went down to the river,  
> I set down on the bank.  
> I tried to think but couldn't,  
> So I jumped in and sank."  
> \- Langston Hughes, Life is Fine

I've washed and I've changed and now I have to knock myself unconscious. The final hope. I am all out of time and all out of second chances. I need this to work.

The clothes they've given me are a nurse's uniform. A Red Cross nurse's uniform. That seems like some cruel sort of karma; I told the paratrooper replacements I was a nurse for the Red Cross and now I suppose I am one. I hate this. I hate it all.

I'm sitting at the small desk in my cell and I have cried and screamed and clawed at this desk so many times but now all I want is to carry on writing. Only now can I remember a million more conversations I could've transcribed, a million more hugs from Tom or smiles from Gene or laughs from Will or eye rolls from Martin or jokes from George. But it's done. I've finished and they won't let me add anything more because as far as they're concerned I've confessed everything I know. My pile of confessions sits just out of reach of my left hand and now I want nothing more than to tear it all to shreds just to spite them.

The guards are talking behind me, just like they always do. They're cackling at the thought that they'll have a new prisoner to taunt tomorrow - someone else will occupy this cell, not because I'll be dead or free but because I'll be in a KZ. It's worse than death. It's worse than anything I can imagine. How have I been so unlucky that both of my number one fears have come true?

Afraid to grow old. That was one of my original fears. How fucking arrogant I was. How stupid. I would give absolutely anything to grow old. Anything and everything. I want to grow old so badly I can't even tell you. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

I keep trying to hold my breath and it's not working. My body won't let me hold it for long enough. With my heavy exhales after each attempt the guards will work it out soon enough. No time, no time, no time. Think, Juliette. How else can you do it?

Provoke one of the guards? Get him to knock me out cold? No. They're too cruel. They'd make sure to keep me conscious. Smash my head against the end of the table? Don't think I'd be able to do it hard enough.

I'm all out of chances. All out of hope. All out of prayers. I've prayed and prayed and prayed, just like my mum always told me to do when I needed help, and all my prayers have been met with is indifference. A whole lot of stone cold nothing. Nothing but more torture.

One final attempt. One last chance.

I inhale a tiny amount of air as opposed to the large gulps I've been taking. I'm banking on the hope that this will speed up the process. All there is to do now is wait.

Hold it.

But it burns.

Hold it.

But I need air.

Hold it.

But my head really hurts.

Hold it.

But my lungs are screaming.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Hold it.

What comes next will be worse.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Ho


	28. Coming Face to Face With Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That terror will be my responsibility until the metamorphosis is complete and the terror is transformed into clarity. Not the clarity born of a desire for beauty and morality like the kind I looked for before even without knowing it, but rather the natural clarity of what exists, and it is that natural clarity that terrifies me. Even though I know that the terror... the terror is only myself coming face to face with things." - Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H.

When I come back around I'm no longer in my cell, which is cause for notable concern. I sit up in the bed - since when have there been beds here? - and the first thing I feel is sunlight on my skin - since when have I been allowed a window? I can't see much through the window due to the angle of the bed, so I swing my legs over the side of it and push myself up slowly. My body aches riotously. My stomach is empty. My head is pounding, which I think is likely from dehydration because I have absolutely no idea how long I've been out.

Looking outside, I am definitely no longer in the the hotel the Nazis had made into a prison. I don't actually have any idea where I am. At all. Oh, shit, that is not good. That is not good _at all_. Because if I'm not in prison then there is only one other place I could possibly be and that is a KZ. I don't know why they've put me in a bed and I can only assume it was on the doctor's orders but I feel certain that when they realise I'm awake I won't be anymore and I am absolutely _filled_ with terror.

The walls feel like they're closing in and suddenly the light from the window - light which I have longed for for so long - is so bright it's blinding and I am filled with the panic that induces the fight or flight response, so I decide to do a bit of both.

I turn way too quickly for my bleary state and now everything's spinning and I can barely see by the time I've rushed over to the door and thrust it open, expecting to have to struggle against guards, but I don't. This is a window of opportunity bigger than I have ever received and I know for certain I'm about to come upon a whole army of guards but hopefully if I fight hard enough they'll just kill me because this is too much, now. I don't know much of what they do at a KZ beyond the medical experimentation the guards said they do on female spies but _I do not want to find out_.

I half run and half stumble my way down the stairs which lead straight into a living room and am I in a _house_? Not what I imagined a KZ to look like. And then I hear a gasp and I look right and oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

"Jules," Tom says. There are tears in his eyes and oh my God what is Tom doing here, what is Tom doing here, what is Tom doing here.

And then there are others too and they appear all at once and this is too much, too much, too much. There's Will, and there's Martin, and Gene, and George, and Floyd, and I _don't_ understand. I don't understand.

"I - don't - I don't - understand."

I feel myself start to cry and, oh, God, what is _happening_? Everything feels much too close together, and I can't get any air, and everything is either much too bright or much too dark, and it is so, so loud even though I don't think anyone's speaking.

When Tom tries to touch me I flinch away. "I can't breathe."

"Jules, you're okay," Tom says, and he repeats it over and over but I don't believe him.

"This is a dream. I'm dreaming. I don't want to dream this because it's not true."

"It's not a dr-"

"It's not _true_! It's not true! It can't be true!"

He catches me as my knees give out and I can't help but cling to him as I sob, and why is everyone still standing there watching?

My sobs are audible and desperate and filled with all of the pain that I feel and I know from how his chest shakes and the small whimpers that he's making that Tom is crying too and I still don't know if this is real. I just don't know. I can't tell. After everything I don't know how this could possibly be real.

"This isn't real," I manage to choke out, but Tom keeps insisting that it is.

I peer up from his shoulder to look at the others and they look so real, and Tom sounds so real, and he feels so real, and maybe this is real. But if this isn't real my heart will break and I will never recover.

"I don't understand," I tell him again.

He pulls back from me and looks me in the eye with tears streaming down his face, holding onto either side of mine. "We got you out," he tells me, as clearly as he can muster whilst crying. "Just like we did for that other team. Do you remember? In Bordeaux?"

I nod, because I do, and he tries so hard to muster a smile. "I went in as a doctor and you really screwed things up by being unconscious when I found you, you know that? They didn't want to let me see you." He tries for a laugh. "They told me you did it deliberately."

And then I start to weep again. "Because - because - they said that - the doctor would decide - would decide who goes to the KZ and -"

"The KZ?"

"Konzentrationslager - concentration camp. I don't really know what it is but - but there was a French girl and - did you save her? Did you save the French girl?"

"Jules, you aren't making sense," Martin says in the softest voice I've ever heard from him. When I look up at him his eyes look so, so sad. I know I must look a right state, covered in bruises and scars and a crying mess on the floor. The others standing beside him are all watching me with such pity I want to be sick.

I take a deep breath and try my best to explain. "In the cell next to me there - there was a French girl and I never met her but we - she used to scream in agony and she used to hear me do it too and that felt like we were friends. But they took her away and - and the guards said they took her to a KZ and I don't know what else they do there but I know they do medical experiments on female spies and I thought - I _hoped_ -" I let out a deep breath, "that you had saved her. I don't know why I thought that. I just did."

All it takes is one look into Tom's eyes and I know that they didn't, and that fills me with the most sick sense of guilt, because why am I here and she's there? But also the most evil sense of relief because God am I glad it is her and not me and _that is so horrible_.

"That's my biggest fear in the whole world," I say quietly, but I know everyone hears me because the room has fallen into dead silence. "The doctor was supposed to decide who to send to the KZ and I knew it was going to be me. So I knocked myself unconscious so that he couldn't do a proper medical review. And when I came down here I thought -" A gasp and do _not_ start crying again, Juliette, pull yourself together, "I thought -"

"You thought that's where you were," Will finishes for me, his realisation clear in his voice. I nod, shutting my eyes tight.

"You're not," Tom tells me firmly, and when I open my eyes to look at him I know he's telling the truth. "You're still in Germany but you're not in a KZ. You're with us, and with Easy Company, and you're not going back there. Do you understand?" he says it slowly and carefully to make sure I hear every word. I nod, and I realise the tears have finally stopped. But then I feel like I'll cry again because _I am so relieved_. So relieved. I can't even explain how relieved I am.

And not going back there and not going to a KZ either also means one thing, and that one thing hits me so suddenly and fills me with so much joy I don't even realise I've said it aloud. "No more carbolic."

_"What?"_ Martin's voice is sharp. So sharp that, instinctively, I flinch.

"Carbolic?" Tom asks, and oops, I shouldn't have said that. I really don't feel like explaining that. At all.

"Carbolic _acid_?" Will asks, horrified. That boy is too smart for his own good.

I nod, avoiding eye contact. I feel Tom stiffen. "What's carbolic acid?"

"It's what they use in lethal injections," Will explains. His voice is low, very sobered, and grave. I can feel many pairs of eyes on me as I stare at the floor. Really shouldn't have said that.

"What did they do with carbolic acid?" Martin asks slowly. I go entirely still.

I shrug, hoping they'll drop it, but of course they don't. They're still all waiting for an answer.

If I tell them about the carbolic I'll have to tell them I confessed, and oh my fucking _God_ I forgot I confessed. Shit, shit, shit. I may have been rescued but I'm still a traitor. I'm a traitor. I've betrayed them all and

"Jules..."

It's too much. It's too much. I have to tell them. I can't not tell them. They'll hate me but I have to tell them.

"I confessed." Those words sit simmering in the air for a few moments, followed by complete silence. I suck in a shaky breath. "I confessed. I told them everything. I told them all about you and -"

And I need to leave right now. I can't bear to look at any of them.

"I know," Tom says, standing up when I do and taking my hand.

"You _know_?"

He leaves my side and I have no idea why but when he goes I'm forced to look at the others. Each of them is reacting differently and the fact this whole thing is about me makes me feel ill. Will is crying and Martin looks like he's furious, George has a hand pressed to his mouth and Gene looks just - empty. And Floyd has both arms braced against the wall and is staring at the floor. I hate this so much. I should've just died.

Tom comes back and he's holding a stack of paper and I know immediately what it is.

"That's my confession," I tell him, and look away because there's so much of it. There's so much paper there it really does look like I've written a novel.

"I know," he says again. He tentatively hands it to me. "I've read it."

This snaps my eyes back up to his, and he doesn't look angry. In fact, he's smiling just a little bit.

"You were out for quite a while," he explains, placing a hand on my arm. "You really did a number on yourself."

"You've read it?" I say, ignoring his words. My voice comes out so small and frightened I feel like punching myself in the face.

Tom nods again and then looks down at the pile of paper in my hands. "Jules, you didn't tell them anything."

"I did," I protest, but he points down at the first page to cut me off.

"Our first names," he tells me, pointing at where they rest in descriptions and dialogue tags. "No surnames. You told them you didn't know our surnames but you do." He takes the stack back off of me, probably expecting me to drop it, and begins to rifle through it. "The only surname you ever mention is yours, which they would've known anyway. And the Americans', but why would the Nazis care about the identities of a bunch of yank paratroopers? And the only codename you ever mention is yours. And you never mentioned the name of any airfields. You never said Upottery and you specifically said you had no idea where the airfield we usually go from is even though you do.

"You said we've only been operating in France since September, which is a lie, so all of our missions in Germany and Holland are still top secret. You said Will is the only radio operator which is also a lie, because if they knew you did it too you'd have to tell them codes. And above all," he says, flicking through it all as if to show me, "you have written _at length_ about this conversation and that field and how you felt about this and when you wanted to say that and your 'confession' is absolutely _full_ of information that is absolutely useless." He turns soft eyes on me. "Jules, you haven't told them anything. Nothing important, anyway."

It's a funny feeling, to have betrayed your best friend. I've never really known anything like it. It's an even funnier feeling to be forgiven anyway.

"But I told them so much about you," I say, my voice thick with tears and emotion.

Tom nods, and he's about to cry too, so he pulls me into another hug. "And you wrote about me so beautifully. They know every aspect of our friendship but they don't know my last name, where I'm from, what my codename is, or what I've done. That's nothing they can use. You told them nothing, Jules. Nothing."

Martin speaks up, then. "It's full of fabrication." I can hear the smile in his voice. "You've always been the best liar, but how you wrote out all of that and managed to convince them you were confessing everything you knew I have _no idea_. And all I am is a bloody sniper? Are you having a laugh?"

I laugh into Tom's shoulder. "Sorry. You do like to fight though."

"You called me 'wicked clever' about eight times," Will says, and he's smiling through his tears.

I pull back from Tom to look at him and laugh a little bit. "You are."

"She also said you have no common sense," Martin adds.

I shrug one shoulder but have to drop it immediately because that hurts. "He doesn't."

Then, something dawns on me, and I'm so embarrassed. If Gene's read that I'll be mortified.

"Have you _all_ read it?" I ask.

"Only the three of us," Tom says, gesturing to Will and Martin. "That's all there was time for," he adds sheepishly.

"The bit about Alex made me cry," Will says after a short pause.

I smile sadly. "It made me cry too."

"Your tears are all over it," Martin comments with a small, bitter laugh.

I bite onto my thumbnail, nodding. "Yeah. The hauptsturmführer didn't like that."

"And the hauptsturmführer is..."

"The one who -" Tortured me. "- was in charge."

They all seem to catch my meaning anyway.

"If a KZ is my number one fear, Hauptsturmführer Becker is number two."

They definitely understand now.

"What did -" Floyd starts, and clears his throat. His voice is the most serious and also the quietest I have ever heard it. "What did they do? To you?"

My eyes drop to the floor. There's no way I'm telling them that.

"Jules?"

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter."

"Jules -"

"It doesn't matter."

"Jules -"

"She doesn't have to tell anyone anything, okay?" Tom interjects. I have never loved him more than I do in this moment. "Give her some time."

"You should probably -" Gene begins, but his voice falters. My eyes snap up to his the moment he begins speaking, and when they meet his own I freeze. Those blue eyes I've always loved, staring back at me when I was so sure I'd never see them again. They still feel like home. "You've been out a few days," he says after a few moments, not breaking eye contact. "You should eat somethin'."

The thought of food makes me feel sick. "I'm not hungry."

He tries so hard to give me a smile. "Come on," he says, his voice still so gentle, "we'll do it together."

When I leave Tom's side I feel incredibly exposed, but Gene holds out his hand for me, to bridge the gap. I take it tentatively and he really does smile, then. In spite of everything, it makes me want to smile back.


	29. Returning from Some Far Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The sun entered my room this morning like an old lover returning from some far place." - Virginia Adair, Having It All

Gene leads me into the kitchen of the house, likely just so I don't have everyone watching me, and sits me down in a chair next to the kitchen table. When he notices my lost expression he sits down next to me and turns in his seat until he's facing me. He rifles around in the pockets of his ODs for a moment and I watch, entranced, as his eyes light up when he seems to find what he's looking for.

When he holds it out to me I see that it's a chocolate bar, and my God, has it been a long time since I've seen one of those. I'm contemplating whether or not to take it when he laughs a little bit - a small, sad sort of laugh - and begins to open it himself. He breaks off two pieces and holds one out to me. "Together, right?" he says.

I nod and take the second piece off of him, and I try for a smile, though I'm not sure it's any good. When I eat it, I find I'm much hungrier than I thought I was.

We carry on that way for a while. Even though he thinks I don't, I notice that eventually Gene stops eating it at all and ends up just breaking off pieces for me. I don't protest, though, because I really am starving, and I think my hands are too sore to be able to break it myself.

Just to pretend we really have shared it, Gene breaks the final piece of it in half, and once it's all gone he watches me carefully. Unlike what I likely would have done the last time I saw him, I don't fidget under his gaze. Instead, I take the time to search his face, taking in every detail just in case I don't get to see it again. He's just as I remember him, which makes my heart smile, but perhaps a little bit rough around the edges. I get the feeling he went through something terrible whilst I was gone, too.

"How're you feelin'?" he asks after a while.

I really take the time to contemplate the question, but only one word seems to come to mind. "Overwhelmed."

He nods and takes ahold of one of my hands gently. Where we both sit sideways on our chairs, facing each other, our knees brush occasionally which fills me with an unexplainable warmth. Just being close to him makes me feel safer than I've felt since last being in England.

"And relieved," I add after a few moments. I can tell a smile wants to tug at his lips, and one wants to tug at mine, too. "Really, really relieved." Why am I about to start crying? Honestly. Need to pull myself together.

I can see tears glistening in his eyes and that's all it takes for the dam to break. I wonder when I'll eventually run out of tears, since it seems I've just cried my way through this war.

Gene pulls me into his lap and I bury my head in the crook of his neck, trying so hard to stifle the sobs. I bite onto my bottom lip so hard in the process I draw blood.

"I don't want to go back there," I confess, my words shaky and choked, "I'm so scared, Gene. I'm so scared. I don't want to go back."

"Shh, chérie, it's alright," he coos, smoothing my hair very gently down my back. "You're not goin' back. You're safe. You're not goin' anywhere."

My sobs wrack my entire body and they're audible now. I'm holding onto Gene so tightly but he doesn't seem to mind.

After a while, when I don't seem to be anywhere near calming down, he whispers, mostly to himself, "Let's get you back upstairs." But instead of lifting me up off of him so I can walk, he stands up with me still in his arms.

When we enter the living room people start talking immediately, and I feel Gene shake his head. "She's overwhelmed," he tells them over my sobs. "I'm takin' her back upstairs."

I feel like a small, frightened child, but I can't find it in me to be embarrassed. I think all of this is just too much. It's so much all at once and I can barely even comprehend it all.

Gene pushes into what I assume is the room I woke up in with his shoulder. He sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping me in his lap, and I'm so grateful for that. I would've begged him to stay otherwise, which would've been so pathetic of me.

He rubs my back soothingly but very softly through the most hysterical parts of my crying, whispering words sweeter than I deserve. When I eventually start to calm down I suck in a shaky breath and whisper, "Don't go."

He holds me tighter, impossibly closer to him, and says, "I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm stayin' right here."

After what seems like an eternity, the room falls back into silence. I listen to the sounds of his breaths and watch the rise and fall of his chest to remind myself that this is real. I'm sure of it now. No one cries that much in their dreams.

Even though I've stopped crying Gene's still holding me close. I wait a while to make sure I won't cry again, and then pull my head back so I can look at him. When our eyes meet he gives me the saddest smile I think I've ever seen and uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away the remnants of my tears. He's always been so gentle with me.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" I ask him quietly. I'm hoping for a yes, but when his eyebrows furrow I know it's a no.

"We got snow," is all he says, trying his best to smile.

"Was it your first white Christmas?"

He laughs a little bit. "Yeah. Don't snow much back home." He pauses and contemplates something, I can tell by how his eyebrows furrow and how he sets his gaze firmly on something outside of the window. Eventually, he says, "Tom said January first is your birthday."

I nod. "New Year's Day." The only birthday present I got this year was an extra large cup of carbolic acid which I had to hold for a record amount of time. Better luck next year. "I suppose that makes me twenty-three now." I wonder whether my parents still think of me on my birthday. I haven't celebrated one with them since I turned sixteen.

Gene chuckles silently to himself. "You're nine months older than me."

"I am?"

He smiles as he looks down at me. "Yeah. I'm October seventeenth." He seems much older than twenty-two, wise beyond his years.

I try for a smile. "Should be me looking after you then, really, not the other way around." This makes him smile, and he shakes his head. "Were you with them? Tom and the others, I mean."

"On your birthday?" he asks. I nod. "Yeah. They made everyone sing you happy birthday."

This makes me smile a little bit. "They did?"

"Yeah. We were supposed to be on noise discipline, so it was quiet. But we did."

I sober up a little bit thinking of how I had longed for him to think I was dead. Quietly, I ask, "Did you know what had happened? To me?"

The question makes something dim in his eyes, and his arms tighten where they're curled around my waist. "Yeah."

I bite onto my bottom lip and look away. "I hoped you thought I was dead." I'd also hoped that I actually was dead, but I decide against confessing that. It seems too morbid a thing to say when we're sitting bathed in sunlight, as close as we can get. I don't want to ruin this.

Gazing out into the sunlight I close my eyes against the brightness, content to feel it warm up my skin, and rest my head on Gene's shoulder.

After a small while he clears his throat and I think I know what's coming. "Can I -" He clears it again and now I know for sure what's coming. "Would you let me check over your wounds?"

The word 'wounds' almost makes me want to laugh. These aren't wounds. 'Wounds' implies I got them in battle or doing something brave. These are scars.

I contemplate my answer for a moment before lifting my head to look at him. He's gazing back at me with such softness in his eyes and I know he really just wants to help, so I nod.

I have to work up the courage to do it, but after a few moments I offer him my right wrist and pull back the sleeve so he can look at the rope burn around it.

I choose to look at him instead of the scarring. It only brings back painful memories. But Gene's face, usually so calm and contented, looks sad and concerned; his eyebrows are drawn tightly together, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth where the rest of his mouth frowns. His fingers are gentle, though, as he grazes them over my skin.

"It'll fade with time," he tells me, trying to smile reassuringly.

Trying to smile back, I use the time that he's looking at my face to turn my arm over in his hands, exposing the forearm littered with pinprick scars. When he looks back down his smile crashes down.

He grazes his fingers over the marks more dazedly than anything else. His voice emerges a mere whisper. "How'd they do these?"

"Needles," I reply. My voice is barely above a whisper as well. I have to look away; even looking at those scars makes me feel the burning sharpness of metal being dug deep into my skin so vividly I want to shiver.

"How deep?"

I breathe in a shaky breath. "Not sure. Enough to hurt." Enough to more than hurt, but he doesn't need to know that.

As he continues to inspect the scarring I rest my forehead back on his shoulder and close my eyes, an attempt to remind myself that I'm here and not there. And, above all, remind myself that whilst my memories are painful, that's all they are now: memories.

I show him my other arm afterwards, and then my shoulder, my collarbone, as much of my back as I can expose whilst retaining some semblance of modesty, and finally, my hip.

He reaches out tentatively for the constellation of scars dotted there and when he makes contact I flinch. He pulls back immediately. "Does that hurt?"

Sucking in a steadying breath, I close my eyes and shake my head, forcing myself to breathe deeply. This is Gene. He'd never hurt me. He only wants to help.

"No," I reply eventually. I peel my eyes open to reassure him that it's okay and then, more carefully than before, he brushes his fingers against the scarring.

Once he's finished he sits back and tries so hard for a smile that never surfaces. His eyes are gentle, though. But his eyes are always gentle, just like he is.

"Is there anythin' else?" he asks. He looks almost like he's holding his breath as he awaits my answer, begging me to say no.

I shrug one shoulder and then have to hold my own breath as I wait for the pain to subside. "Just bruising," I tell him eventually. A gesture to my ribs and he understands.

He looks anyway - with my permission, of course. And he really tries not to, but he gasps when he sees it, which only makes it worse.

"How recent?" His voice shakes.

I haven't looked, myself, but his reaction is more than a mirror could tell me anyway.

"The day before Tom came."

"Four days," he tells me. I nod but don't reply.

After a few moments he takes ahold of my hand so I'll meet his eyes, and when I do he looks apologetic. "I gotta check for broken ribs."

"Will it hurt?"

"I'll be careful," he promises. So that's a yes.

He pokes and prods and it hurts a whole lot but I try my very best not to react. When he's finished he sends me a solemn nod. "You've got a broken rib. Ain't nothin' I can do for it, you just gotta rest a lot and be careful. I'll keep checkin' up to make sure it's healin'."

"Okay."

I busy myself with straightening up my clothes. I'm still wearing the stupid nurse's uniform I was forced to wear before 'the doctor' came to visit - they'd obviously stolen it off of another spy they caught - which is incredibly uncomfortable, but it covers the majority of my scars. Plus, it's clean, which is a lot more than can be said of the maid's uniform I'd been wearing previously. All of a sudden I am so incredibly glad we were forced to shower before the doctor came; it was incredibly difficult, and even more painful, but at least I don't look half the wreck I did before.

The others must all think I'm dramatising everything. Clean clothes, clean hair, and no visible scars or bruises. I'm not so sure whether these are good or bad things anymore.

I really, really want to cry again but I force myself not to. I stare out into the sunlight streaming in through the window instead, reminding myself that I'm okay now. I have no idea how that's happened but I'm so glad it has. I have to be grateful for the present as opposed to resentful for the past. It's difficult but it's the only way to keep going.

Gene doesn't make to leave. He sits with me and lets me take all of the time I need to calm down, which I'm also grateful for. I wonder what I would've said if someone told me what was ahead when we were back in Aldbourne saying goodbye. It's been an incredibly long time since then but that doesn't bear thinking about now.


	30. Do I Wake or Sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Was it a vision, or a waking dream? / Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?" - John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

Gene and I soon go back downstairs together. When we do, George and Floyd aren't there anymore, but Tom, Will, and Martin are. They're sitting at the kitchen table when we find them, and Gene leaves me with them, likely to go to do some duty or other. There is, after all, still a war going on, and he is still a soldier.

The moment I sit down and see their expressions, I begin to dread this conversation. If they ask what happened to me I don't know what I'll say; they're my best friends and I love them dearly, but I can't tell them, as much because I can't bear to relive it as because I couldn't bear for them to know. I just couldn't take it.

Tom meets my eyes and gives me a small smile. "We figured you'll probably need to know what we're doing here and what happened whilst you were... away."

I want to laugh, in spite of myself, at his word choice. But also because I feel so relieved that they're not asking about what happened - not yet, at least. But I don't.

"Okay," I say with a nod.

Tom nods back at me and begins speaking. "Well, first and foremost, you don't have to worry about going back out in the field again. Ever since das Englandspiel our orders have been to hide amongst Easy and help them out however we can."

Even through my crashing relief, I muster, "Das Englandspiel?" I know it means 'the England game' but I have no idea what that, in turn, means.

Tom sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. "Almost every single undercover agent sent to the Netherlands was caught. It wasn't just you. Turns out the Germans captured a whole lot of SOE agents early on and used their codes to send requests for arms and more agents to be sent to Holland. We were walking into a trap the entire time."

"But what about -" I begin, but Martin cuts me off.

"The spies we met in Eindhoven?" That seems a million years ago now. Such a distant memory. "Double agents, presumably. We can fake their accents, why shouldn't they be able to fake ours?"

"God," I whisper, my hands fiddling furiously at my skirt under the table. How had we really had no idea? So this is what it feels like to be on the other side of a spy operation. Not sure I like it much.

"Yeah," Tom replies quietly. "After you were... caught," it pains him to even say it, "we tried for ages to get you out. We really, truly did. We ended up linking up with Easy in Nuenen and we've been with them ever since." He runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the ends, seeming not to realise that he's doing it. "It took us so long to get to you because of the lapse in judgement where communication with HQ was concerned. They needed to be able to trust that we were being genuine in trying to get you out. As soon as they knew that we were, they gave us the all clear and all the information we needed." He can barely meet my eyes, but I can tell that he's forcing himself to. "If we could have done it earlier, we would've."

I nod, because I really do believe that's true. "I know," I tell him. I hope he can hear the sincerity in my voice because I hate so much that he feels guilty about my delayed rescue, as opposed to proud or heroic at the fact he managed it at all.

"I'm sorry," he says, and there are tears pooling in his eyes.

I shake my head and reach my hand out across the table, where he takes it in his own immediately. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Tom. You got me out, and I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for that. I really can't."

"I know we said that if we got caught we'd do it for each other, but -"

"No, it's okay," I tell him gently. "Don't get upset. It's okay." Seeing him like this, so distraught, tears my heart to shreds, so I stand up from my chair and skirt around the edge of the table until I'm next to him. "Budge up, would you? I'd like to sit here."

Tom smiles a little bit and scoots over so I can share the chair with him. I wrap my arms around his waist once we're both settled and as comfortable as we can be whilst we're both hanging off of the edges. Tom wraps his arms around me, too, and he's chuckling lightly now, which makes me smile. I can hardly bear to ever see him upset.

"Always invading my space," he jokes. His words are still a little bit choked from the tears he's pushing back, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

I try for a laugh. "Absolutely always." Then I look to Will and Martin. "Gene told me you had everyone sing me happy birthday back on New Year's Day."

Will grins. "We could only sing it quietly because of noise discipline, but yeah. It was freezing as all hell, the coldest I've ever been, but singing to you as though you could hear us kept us warm for a bit."

This makes me smile slightly. "Well, thank you. That's the sweetest thing ever, that you did that."

"Can't believe you're twenty-three now," Martin says with a small laugh. "You're getting old."

"Pot, kettle, black, Martin," I tell him. "Pot, kettle, black."

"Fuck off."

"That's a most unkind thing to say."

I hear Tom laugh and feel him hug me tighter, so I hug him tighter too. I really have missed him more than I could ever even begin to articulate. I've missed all of them.

"What happened," Will says after a few moments, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly, "and what they... _did_ to you... you don't have to tell us, but -" He pauses and furrows his eyebrows, rolling his lips into his mouth and then back out again. "Was it bad?" he asks eventually.

I stiffen instinctively at being asked about it. I can't look at him now. I stare down at the wooden table as though something incredibly intricate is painted there, my eyebrows drawn together and my teeth worrying at my bottom lip. How to answer this.

"Yes," is what I eventually decide on, and it emerges as a mere whisper. There's no point lying to them about it - I can tell from how they're acting that they already know it was bad. And as much as I don't want to worry them, I can't lie about it. It was more than bad, really, but that's all I need to say.

"How bad?" Martin presses, and I fear that if they push me too hard I'll break down again.

I make sure to take a few deep breaths and try to steady myself as much as possible before speaking. "It was..." I can't even find the words. "Beyond bad. Just... bad."

"I saw your scars," Tom says quietly from beside me. When I look at him he's looking away, guilty. "When I went in to get you I had to pretend to do a medical check. I didn't see all of them, I'm sure, but I saw some."

"Which ones?" My words are incredibly quiet, even in the silence of the room.

"The burns on your collarbone." Soldering iron. "And the burns on your shoulders." Cigarettes. "The marks on your wrists." Having them tied up above my head for three days straight. "The bruises on your ribs." Classic beatings. "Are there..." he starts, and he finally looks at me. His eyebrows are drawn tightly together, his mouth set firmly in a frown. "Are there any more?"

I nod, but say nothing else.

There are the dozens of tiny scars where glass was crushed against my hip, and the pinpricks along my forearms where they dug needles into the skin there. There's the cut on my head, hidden mostly by my hair, that's still healing from when the hauptsturmführer smacked it against a wall. And the marks across the small of my back from where he had the guards cut me open with a knife.

"What was the worst?" Will asks cautiously, and gets reprimanded for it immediately by Martin.

I smile softly but don't look up from the table. "The carbolic was the worst."

"What did -"

"I can't tell you about it," I say quickly, cutting him off. "I'm sorry, I just can't. I can't bear to."

"That's okay," Will replies. When I look up at him he's smiling sadly.

"I missed your birthday," I tell him instead.

He nods. "It's okay."

"Happy belated birthday." I offer him as big a smile as I can.

"Thank you. Happy belated birthday to you too."

"Twenty-five now, aren't you? You're the one who's getting old."

He laughs, and nods. "Yeah. I feel it, too."

I let out a soft sigh without entirely meaning to. "Me too."

We sit in silence for a while before the sound of the front door opening draws our attention away. George lingers in the doorway for a moment before offering a sheepish smile. "We're moving out again in a few minutes. Everyone's getting ready to go."

"Okay. Thanks, Luz," Tom replies with a nod. He waits for the sound of the front door closing again before addressing us. "Jules, you're with me. Martin and Will one of you on the truck in front and the other on the one behind. We have to be spread out but I want you in line of sight, understood?"

We all echo back that we do, in fact, understand, and then the boys are off to gather their stuff to get ready to leave. I wait for them by the front door as obviously I don't actually own anything these days, and it's not long later that we're all bundling into troop trucks. I never thought I'd say I was glad to sit scrunched up in one of them with a group of yanks but I couldn't be more grateful now.


	31. What is Decreed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fate, show thy force; ourselves we do not owe;  
> What is decreed must be, and be this so."  
> \- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

It takes a while for the troop trucks to fill up, especially seeing as we're some of the first on them. Tom makes sure I'm tucked between him and the front wall, and I sit with my knees drawn up to my chest, staring at my hands in my lap as I listen to the sounds of the men filing in around us.

I daren't risk a glance up until I'm ready to face the questioning, pitying stares, so whilst I work up the courage I have to content myself with listening and trying to gauge from voices who's sitting around us.

"Hey! Gene!" the man sitting opposite me calls. It's only then that I look up.

The man is definitely unfamiliar to me, presumably a replacement, but he sends me a warm smile anyway when he catches me looking at him. He has a medic band strapped around his left bicep just like Gene always does but he wears a knitted hat as opposed to a helmet.

"Ralph Spina," he introduces himself, and holds out a hand for me to shake.

I smile a little bit and shake it just as Gene sits down beside him. "Juliette Chevalier."

He chuckles to himself. "Well, that's a French name if I ever heard one."

"That's because I'm French."

"You sound British."

This makes me laugh just a bit. "I moved to London when I was eleven."

"Ah," he says, nodding. "So, how old are ya?" When I furrow my eyebrows at the absurdity of the question he laughs. "You're the girl we sang happy birthday to, right?"

"Oh!" I smile slightly again, just like I did upon first hearing about this incident. "Yeah, that was me. I'm twenty-three."

"Happy late-birthday," he tells me, which makes me smile again. I decide then that I rather like him.

"Thank you."

He shoots me a grin and then slings an arm over Gene's shoulders. "I been lookin' after Gene for ya. Keepin' 'im out of trouble."

Gene rolls his eyes but a smile so desperately wants to draw up his lips.

Tom laughs. "As I recall it was actually the other way around."

Before they can bicker, I cut in, "Either way, at least he had someone looking out for him. Always looking after everyone else but never after himself." When Gene meets my eyes I actually do smile because he's already smiling back at me.

"Got that right," Spina agrees through a chuckle. He draws out a pack of cigarettes and hands one to Gene before taking one for himself. "Hey, d'ya want one?" he asks upon second-thought, offering it to me.

"No, thank you," I reply.

"She doesn't smoke," Tom adds. I roll my eyes; always so protective.

When we start driving I'm content simply to watch the scenery. I'm not sure how far we are from Berlin but the thought we'll be getting farther sets me a little bit more at ease; ideally I just want to get out of Germany but for now this will do. I'm just glad to be with the boys and the Americans - just that is more than I deserve, really.

The German countryside passes us by in a blur of green, a patchwork of different shades and different textured fields. The sun beating down on my head gets hot but I don't dare roll my sleeves up. I end up tucking my legs up underneath me and turning in my seat to lean on the railing behind me, leaning into the wind.

The men all start singing after a small while - a song I've heard the tune to, but never those particular lyrics. I assume it's a song specific to the American paratroopers, or maybe just their regiment. Either way, Tom seems to know it as well because he sings it along with them.

"The risers wrapped around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,   
Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones,   
The canopy became the shroud he hurdled to the ground,   
He ain't gonna jump no more."

The lyrics are brutal but the tune is jolly.

"Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die   
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die  
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die  
He ain't gonna jump no more."

I close my eyes and listen to them, leaning my chin on my crossed arms where they still rest on the railing. Feeling the breeze and the sunlight, hearing singing and the sounds of chatter, knowing I'm surrounded by people I trust - it's all overwhelming in the relief it brings. For a period of time, sitting in that troop truck, I think I really do feel at peace.

Forgetting myself for a moment, I make the mistake of pushing my hair back behind my ear. I realise the problem immediately when Tom stops singing.

"What's that?"

I untuck my hair quickly and feign ignorance. "What's what?"

"On your face," he says. In my periphery I can see him about to reach out to tuck my hair up again so I turn around in my seat, the injured side of my head now out of his line of sight.

"Watch that rib," Gene reminds me. When I look up at him he's watching me closely.

"Jules, what's on your face?" Tom repeats himself.

"Nothing."

"Jules." I don't make to reply so he warns, "Juliette."

I visibly bristle at this; he knows I hate it when he uses my full name as a reprimand. "What do you want me to say, Tom? The likelihood is it's exactly what you think it is. Can we leave it alone now?"

"Let me look."

"No."

"What's the matter?" Gene cuts in and I sigh. The last thing I need right now is for him to be worried, too.

"She's got a head wound," Tom explains before I can speak. Instead of adding anything I cross my arms and slump down in my seat. I hate this.

"Let me look," Gene says this time. I look away. "Chérie," he tries again.

This makes me quirk a smile but I force it down. "Nice try."

"Come on, would ya let _me_ look?" Spina chimes in. His sudden entrance to the conversation is so jarring I look back to him before I even realise I've done it. He smiles warmly at me. "You just met me, right? It'll be like every other doctor's appointment you ever had."

"There's nothing wrong with me," I protest.

Tom and Gene are both scowling by now so I sigh; I have so little energy these days I've exhausted myself even just arguing for a minute. Instead of verbalising my reply I shrug and look away again and watch in my peripheral vision as Tom and Spina switch seats.

"It's the other side, right?" Spina asks.

I turn to face the German countryside behind me once more and tuck my hair up behind my ear. When he touches the bruising I flinch.

"It hurts?" he asks, watching me closely.

My eyes are screwed shut but I nod.

"How long ago was it?"

I shrug.

"Any guesses?"

I can hear the small smile in his voice which makes me open my eyes. I think on his question before uttering quietly, "Maybe a month or so."

His eyebrows hop up. "A month or so and it still looks like this?" When I meet his eyes he's asking for permission and I know without having to ask what he wants to do. I think on it for a moment before nodding, so he gently turns my head and holds the hair at my temple back so that Gene can see it, too.

"Did you get a concussion?" Spina asks after a few moments.

"I don't know."

"What did it feel like?"

I smile bitterly. "It hurt." When he chuckles I yield. "Um, I was dizzy. A bit dazed. Kind of confused, even though I still remembered what happened. And I was really, really tired."

In my periphery I see Gene nod, eyes still trained on this injury I've yet to even see myself. "Concussion," he affirms, voice low and sobered.

In a moment of impulse I pull back from Spina's hands and turn to face the front again, though I take special care not to meet anyone's eyes. After a beat, I say into the lingering silence, "Well, it was a while ago and I'm fine, so let's move on."

Even as Spina valiantly starts up a different conversation, an anecdote from back home, I don't chime in. Still, I listen carefully to his retelling of the time he was in the waiting room whilst his daughter was being born and smile a little bit every now and then. It seems strange for a replacement to be so mature when the ones I've been used to have always been so young and innocent-looking, but I rather like Spina nonetheless - if I wasn't sure before I certainly am now.

When we arrive at whatever German town we're stopping off at I choose not to watch as they clear the locals out of the houses. It seems brutal and it only upsets me to see the children emerging holding their parents' hands, so I wait by myself by the trucks until they're finished.

The house we end up allocated has a peculiar layout, though the family is obviously wealthy. The front door opens straight into the living room which then leads straight into the dining area of the kitchen. I've never seen a house with such a strange layout but I suppose what it lacks in orthodox planning it makes up for in decor, as it's furnished with what looks to be the most luxurious furniture in all of Germany. Suddenly I'm a bit bitter that these people have been able to spend their war years here in such luxury, lounging across satin sofas and ignoring what's going on elsewhere, whilst the rest of us have had our fair share of living in the woods and suffering in between. Still, I try to push the thought away; these people have been lucky and I should be glad that the worst the war has been for them is being kicked out of their house for a night.

I end up taking a seat at the kitchen table. where Tom, Martin, and Will all join me. We sit mostly in silence - I, for one, am absolutely exhausted with all that has transpired already today. I'm not much in the mood for talking but thankfully it doesn't seem as though the others are either.

I let myself simply take them in, their presences and their appearances and the knowledge that they're alive and safe. That is, until the sound of the front door opening draws all of our attention up.

Floyd enters and approaches until he's lingering in the kitchen doorway, looking incredibly frantic and slightly out of breath.

"You guys speak German, right?"

"Yeah, three of us do," Tom answers confusedly. "Will doesn't, but he's the only one. Why?"

"Major Winters wants as many German speakers as possible. The guys on the patrol... found something."

That doesn't bode well. "What did they find?" I ask.

Floyd's eyes flicker to me and he seems conflicted about what to say. "No one's really sure. That's what we need the German speakers for."

"Okay," Tom says. He rises from his seat, already considering his orders. "Jules, you stay here. Martin and I will go."

"What? Why?" I protest, getting up as quickly as I can without angering any of my ailments. "I speak German."

"From what I've heard," Floyd begins, looking as though he's still deciding on what to say even whilst speaking, "it's probably best that you stay here."

"I don't understand," I mumble, but I sit back down anyway, mostly because I don't have the energy in me to protest further.

As he passes, Tom lays a hand on my shoulder and shoots me a smile. "We'll be back soon." I nod, and watch as he goes to leave. He stops on his way to the door to whisper something to Will.

Once the front door has closed behind them, I ask him, "What did he say to you?"

Will shrugs. "Just to keep an eye on you."

I sigh. "I'm not a child. I can bear to be by myself, you know." As soon as the words have come out I realise that I'm not actually sure that that's entirely true. Still, I don't make any move to take them back. I'm still a little bit irritated I wasn't allowed to go with them even though I speak better German than Martin does.

After a small while of sitting quietly with Will, who eventually resorts to fiddling with his radio, I make to venture outside. When Will startles and starts stuttering out protests I try to be as patient with him as possible. After having been kept locked up for so long, it's almost painful to still be kept inside, but he just wants to look out for me. I know that, so I reassure him, "I'm just going to sit on the doorstep. I'll keep the front door open so you'll be able to see me the whole time."

Eventually, reluctantly, he nods, but he moves with his radio into the living room so that he can get a better view out of the front door.

Sitting outside is healing in a way - or, at least, I hope it is, because I know I've got an awful lot of that to do. My mind is still racing trying to theorise on what the patrol found and why I wasn't allowed to go, but I'm able to tune it out a little bit with the sounds of the town around me.

I'm surrounded by birds chirping and leaves brushing against each other, people talking and laughing together, and the soundtrack of my life before capture: Will fiddling with his radio. It reminds me so much of the life I thought I'd lost that I start to cry again, but I'm able to calm myself down quite quickly. I really need to stop crying about everything - if I thought I was bad before, I'm terrible for it now. I remember vividly that whilst I was writing my confession I resented my past self for crying at such small things. I thought that that part of me was lost forever. I suppose I was wrong - really, I was wrong about a lot of things, but most definitely I was wrong about how much I thought I'd changed; there are parts of me that are gone forever, and parts of me that have become hardened, but I think, in her barest bones, the Juliette I wrote about is still there. I don't know if my smile will ever be as bright, or my laugh ever as loud, but I think she's still in there somewhere. I hope someday I'll find her again.

The calm serenity of what I assume is the centre of this small German town is disrupted very abruptly when a couple of military vehicles come rushing back in. Soldiers leap off of the back of it immediately and rush into various different buildings - some into a bakery, some into a nearby house I assume has been set up for the officers. Out of the chaos, I see Tom rushing towards me.

I know something's wrong when he doesn't even question why I'm outside. Instead, his immediate question is, "What did you say your biggest fear was? Where they were going to take you?" His eyebrows are furrowed, his hair a mess from where he's likely been running his hands through it repeatedly. And, above all, his eyes look wild, almost frantic. Something's definitely wrong.

"A KZ?" I ask. He clicks his fingers to indicate that that's what he was looking for. "Konzentrationslager. Concentration camp," I explain further. He nods rapidly at me and mutters the words repeatedly under his breath to commit them to memory. I'm more confused than ever. "Why? What's happened?"

"I think -" Tom starts. His eyes dart behind me and I assume land on Will. He stares there for a few moments, mouth opening and closing in his loss for words, before he looks back at me. "I think we've found one."

Oh no.

"You have?"

"I think."

I don't even know what to feel. Vague panic, because that is my number one fear in the world and it's _so close_. Horror, because what does it actually look like? Sadness, because whilst I got lucky, there must be so, so many people who didn't.

Eventually, I say, "I want to see it."


	32. From the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Someone will pull you from the fire, someone else wrap you in flames." - Kim Addonizio, The Givens

"No," Tom says immediately. His voice is serious, his face hardened.

"I want to see it," I say again.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Tom -"

" _No_ , Jules. I said no. I'm not changing my mind."

"You don't get to decide that for me," I insist. I can see him getting more and more frustrated by the second.

He grinds his jaw just slightly. "As your CO that is exactly what I get to do. Now drop it, Jules. I won't tell you again."

I can feel my agitation rising but try to push it down as much as possible. I know that, from his perspective, he's doing what he thinks is best for me, but something inside of me is screaming that I need to see for myself. I need to see where they sent that poor French girl who was in the cell next to mine. I need to see where they were going to send me. "Tom, I need to know. I need to know what -"

"You don't and that's final, Juliette."

"Will you just listen to me?!"

"I don't have time. I have to go back."

I know I should just drop it and stay put. I know I should. But I just need to know. I need to. I can't explain it, I just need to see it for myself.

I follow after him as he walks away. "That was what was going to happen, Tom. That's what was going to happen to _me_. I think I have as much a right to see it as you do considering I was going to be sent to one of them."

His frustration is visible now, in the pulsing of his jaw muscles and the clenching and subsequent unclenching of his fists. "I'm telling you, Juliette, you don't need to see this. Stay here."

"Would you stop calling me Juliette like I'm a child and you're my mother?"

He whirls around to halt me in place. "Would you stop acting like one?!"

Okay. Ouch.

Thomas sends me one last look, an icy look that leaves no room for further argument, before he turns and heads back in the direction he'd been going before. I'm left standing in the midst of the chaos, staring after him, trying to convince myself that it's better this way. But I can't shake the feeling that _I am so in the wrong_ for having been rescued and then being sheltered from even seeing a KZ, let alone having to go to one. Why should I be protected from ever having to set foot there when so many of the people I was imprisoned alongside weren't? I feel like I want to cry. Again. It was more than I'd even wished for, to be rescued, but I feel like I don't deserve it.

I feel a hand on my back and flinch so violently whoever it is takes a step back. When I turn I find Will, and he looks like he's been slapped. "Sorry," he mumbles. Then he gestures behind him, back in the direction of the house we'd come from. "I think we should go back inside."

I fight the urge to cry and follow after him, begging the stinging in my eyes to subside so I can see and think clearly. Maybe it really would be better that I don't see it. Maybe seeing what happened to the others, and what would have happened to me, would just ruin me. But is there even anything left of me to ruin? I feel as though they've destroyed all of me. I don't know what's left to destroy.

Will leads me into the kitchen and sits me down at the kitchen table. He leaves for a few moments before returning with his radio, and he sets it down before me. "Take it apart and put it back together again," he tells me, trying to offer a smile. "It always makes me feel better."

I can't help the tiny smile that tugs at my lips. I don't deserve Will and his kindness.

So, as he sits across from me, I begin to do as he says. I take the radio apart, and then I put it back together again. I take it apart, and I put it back together again. Apart, together again. Apart, together. Apart. Together. Apart.

The front door opens.

My eyes shoot up to meet Will's and he shakes his head slightly. "Just put the radio back together."

So I do.

Even when I hear footsteps enter the living room. Even when I hear them enter the kitchen. Through it all, I remain seated, working to put Will's radio back together again, as though my life depends on it. Maybe, in a way, it does.

"Jules," Tom says after a few moments, "I'm sorry." His voice sounds just _empty._

I don't look up, but I nod. "I know." He was just trying to do what's best for me. I can't stay angry at him for that.

"What's happening now?" Will asks, rising from his chair once he's sure I'm still focused on the radio.

"They've got doctors and medics regulating the food and water intake of the prisoners. They're keeping them in the camp until they can find somewhere better in town."

"What -" I begin, and have to clear my throat to get rid of the hoarseness. "What was it like?"

I look up tentatively to find Tom facing away from me, staring at one of the kitchen cupboards. Martin's still in the living room, and he has his head in his hands.

Tom shakes his head and doesn't say anything.

"Were there women there?"

Tom coughs once. "There's a women's camp by the next train station."

Those damn tears are back in my eyes. "I want to go there."

"No."

"I need to see whether that French girl's there. The French girl in the cell next to mine." It's only then I realise I've never actually seen her face. Even if I went there I'd have no idea if she is or isn't. "Or the French Resistance woman who translated my confessions." The thought that she might be there makes me feel sick. "I need to know whether -"

"You're not going," Tom says sternly, his back still turned.

"God, would you just look at me?!"

Tom turns sharply, and there are tears sliding down his cheeks. His eyes are blood shot and appear sunken in, his mouth drawn tightly into a frown. His hair is an absolute mess. He looks exhausted.

I rise to my feet and quickly wipe away the tear that has fallen. "I need to see it."

"No you _don't_!"

"You don't know what it's like!" I burst out. I can't stop myself. The words just come pouring out of me. "I feel like I'm crumbling with the guilt that I'm here and they're there! The people who were imprisoned with me - who I heard scream in agony through the walls, and they heard me do the same - why do they get sent there and I'm shielded from even having to look?! Do you know how it makes me feel?! It makes me feel wretched. I feel rotten. Absolutely sick to my stomach with guilt, and grief, and self-loathing. Going to see what happened to them is the absolute least thing I can do!"

"I'm just trying to protect you!" Tom shouts.

"Why _didn't_ you protect me, then?!" I just can't help it anymore. "Why didn't you kill me?! If you wanted to protect me you should have shot me, because I can't live like this. I thought that I could but I can't because it haunts me. I try to forget and it haunts me. What happened to me and what happened to them. What I had to watch them do to some of the others. What they did to me. God fucking damn it, _why didn't you kill me?!"_ I can't help but scream it at him. I'm weeping again now.

"Do you know how many times I've asked myself that?" I go on, because no one has said anything. "Do you know that I was begging you to just do it, when you had the gun aimed at my heart? It was worse than death. I tried to kill myself eight times. Eight! You should have just fucking killed me."

"You said you didn't have the shot," Will mumbles into the silence that follows. His words are aimed at Tom, who is crying in earnest now.

Tom wipes angrily at his eyes and turns them back on me. In his coldest voice, he says, "You're still not going to that camp."

I feel like I could scream. Maybe I should. Maybe that would make him understand the pain I feel.

"You can't protect me, Thomas," I say, equally as coldly. "You had your chance to do that and you failed. You didn't protect me when they crushed glass against my skin. Or when they cut open my back with knives. Or pressed needles into my forearms. Or tied me up by my wrists for three days. Or tried to drown me. Or burned me with a soldering iron. Or when they poured carbolic acid in my mouth and made me hold it there for thirty-three fucking minutes straight. Do you know how it burns? How it makes you cry because of how strong it is? Do you know how you panic, because if it slips down your throat it won't kill you but it'll be the worst pain in the world?" I'm fully crying by now. "If you wanted to protect me you should've killed me. But you didn't. And now I have to live with that."

When I walk into the living room Martin is standing there and I collapse into his arms. He holds me up tightly, and I can hear his heart thumping. I hear footsteps follow and I choke out, "I'm sorry," because I really, truly am. "I'm sorry. Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's not your fault. Tom, it's not your fault. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I wrench myself out of Martin's grip and Tom's there to catch me immediately, just like he always is. He's crying too.

"I didn't mean it," I tell him again. I can feel him nod where his head is resting on mine.

"I know," he says, and his crying is just as audible as mine is. I can't believe I could ever say such awful things. I can't believe I could ever blame it on him.

I keep apologising, over and over again, and he accepts each and every one. And he is more than I deserve. He has always been, and always will be, so much more than I deserve. So much more.

When I've calmed down somewhat and Tom has too, he tells me, "You can go, if you want. To that women's camp. But I'm going with you."

I shake my head where it's still pressed against his chest. "I don't know if I can. I don't know anymore. I don't know."

"That's okay."

"I don't know."

"That's okay."


	33. What Can Ail Thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "O what can ail thee, knight at arms, / Alone and palely loitering?" - John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci

After everything has calmed down, Will makes sure we all sit down to eat. There's little in the way of food about but the boys, apparently, get the same army rations as everyone else now, so we share that. Sitting at the kitchen table and eating together feels almost like being back in Aldbourne, except so much has changed since then.

I can't help but feel like today has been one of the longest days of my life. An emotional rollercoaster, to be sure. It's so difficult to believe that it was only this morning I thought I was waking up in a KZ.

The thought makes me want to ask something, though I pause to really think about it before I do. The last thing I want to do is push everyone over the edge again after everything that happened earlier.

Eventually, I say, "Who was it in the camp? I assume it wasn't full of spies."

Martin nods gravely. "Jews."

My jaw falls open. "What?"

"Jews," he repeats, still in that sombre tone. "And gypsies. Dissidents. Mostly Jews, though."

"So that's the..." I begin, trailing off.

Will finishes the sentence off for me with a small nod. "Final solution to the Jewish question."

That thought is so, so sickening.

"Did you see Joe?" I ask after a short pause. "Liebgott, that is. I only ask because he's -" I sigh. "He's Jewish."

It's Tom who replies this time. "Yeah. He was... struggling, to say the least. Everyone was but him especially."

I shake my head, only picking at my food now. "I can't imagine..."

"Yeah," Tom replies in a whisper. We don't speak for the rest of the time that we're eating.

Tom makes sure everyone goes to bed a little while later, and he makes sure to sit with me until I fall asleep. This, also, feels a lot like old times. He's always been right by my side whenever I've needed him. God, I can't believe what I said to him earlier.

Almost as though he's reading my mind, he says softly into the darkness, "I know you didn't mean what you said earlier." I smile a little bit because he knows me so well. Then, he continues, "But did they actually..." A pause and a short, resigned sigh. "Did they actually do all that?"

I chew onto my bottom lip for a few moments and contemplate pretending to be asleep. In the end, I reply, "Yeah," and stare blankly at the ceiling. I can't really recall how much I told him of what they did, but I know for certain I told him about the carbolic. I had wanted to keep that to myself. The best laid plans, I suppose.

"Everyday?" His voice sounds so small, and so heartbroken.

I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "No. For a lot of the beginning of my confession they didn't interrupt my writing, but when the hauptsturmführer read it that was the first time I got the carbolic -" I bitterly laugh a little bit, "- because I'd filled it with so much useless information. The first few weeks were them working out what would get to me the most, so they could get the information out easier. When they worked it out they used those methods to try to make me talk. That was when I asked to write my confession. After the first burst of writing I'd probably get something maybe once a day, sometimes every other day, but sometimes it was just small things."

My voice is emotionless as I explain, and I'm vaguely surprised that I don't feel the urge to cry. I think I'm finally all cried out, which is a miracle in and of itself.

"What happened when you brought me back?" I wonder quietly. I hear Tom shift where he sits on the floor beside the bed.

"We all cried," Tom says. He laughs a little bit, exhaustedly and bitterly and sadly. I imagine him shaking his head. "All three of us. Will was in bits for hours. Martin was in a fit of rage, breaking everything he could find." He pauses, and I wonder desperately what his face looks like as he recalls the event. "Gene wouldn't leave your side. He made excuses that it was for medical reasons but I think I saw a few tears when he first sat with you." That makes me infinitely sad.

"Why was Martin angry?" I ask.

Tom sighs. "I told them. As soon as I got back to where we were staying - some German town or other we stopped off at on the way here - and they saw me carrying you. They were all asking so many questions so I just told them."

"Told them what?"

He pauses, and that's how I know. Still, he answers, "That you'd been tortured."

For some reason, the word, or maybe the way he says it, steals my breath away. I lie very still, not breathing for a few moments before I force myself to recover.

"Was everyone there?" I ask, gnawing on my bottom lip absentmindedly.

"Mostly, yeah. Nixon was giving one of his current affairs lectures. Everyone who'd need to know, knows. Gene, George, Tab, Lieb, Malark, Skinny, Shifty..."

"What about Bill and Joe?"

Tom sucks in a harsh breath. I feel freezing cold dread wash over my entire body.

"They were seriously injured in Belgium," he explains. "Both of them lost a leg. They're currently in a hospital in England."

Whilst that makes me so, so, incredibly sad, I'm also so relieved. They're alive, at the very least, and that means so much.

Then I realise who else he didn't mention. Hesitantly, I inquire, "Skip and Penkala?"

There's a long pause. That's all I need to know. I exhale all of my breath in one go and think hard on my last memory of them, which is saying goodbye at Upottery right before Market Garden. God, it's awful. War is so awful. No one deserves it but, Jesus, they really didn't. They really, really didn't.

I fall asleep not long after that. When I jolt upwards in the middle of the night, hallucinating the sound of my cell door slamming open, Tom isn't there anymore and for a few seconds I'm drowning in panic. But then everything comes crashing back and I lower myself back down onto the sheets slowly, carefully, trying to will myself to remember that all of this is real. That I'm okay now.

Needless to say, I don't get a full night's sleep. I gasp myself awake more times than I'd like to admit, thinking I hear my cell door opening or the hauptsturmführer's voice, or someone screaming from a cell down the hall. Each time it takes me a few unbearable seconds before I realise they're hallucinations, and each time I lay back down and have to wait a few minutes for my heart rate to return to normal.

As soon as I see the beginnings of sunrise through the window, I push back the sheets and head downstairs. I end up sitting on the doorstep, leaving the front door open behind me just so I don't scare anyone who might go into my room to check on me.

I see Gene wandering down the road a little while into watching light begin to spread across the sky. He sees me, too, and smiles softly. He looks tired. I think he must have spent most of the night at the KZ, looking after the people there.

When he comes close he offers me a tiny, heartbroken smile. I offer him one back, though I try to leave off the sadness. He turns to squint into the growing light, watching it with me, before eventually coming to sit beside me on the doorstep. I have to move up a little bit to make room, and though it's a squeeze, having him this close feels warm and familiar and safe.

"You're up early," he comments quietly.

I glance at him with a small smile. "You're up late." He shakes his head and looks to the front, so I yield and explain, "Couldn't sleep."

He nods and glances at me once, his face looking uncharacteristically open. He lets me rest my head on his shoulder, and we stay that way for a while. Eventually, however, I sit up and turn to him. "You should sleep."

"So should you."

"You more so than me."

He shakes his head and I give him a look which makes him chuckle under his breath. Finally, he nods. "Alright."

"Promise you'll try to sleep."

He smiles, then. Not fully, but it's enough. "I promise."

I watch him go, and when he disappears from my line of sight I sit back down for a little while, listening to the world wake up. It's been almost a full twenty-four hours since I woke up and found myself rescued. I know I was out for days, but to me it feels like it's only been forty-eight since I was being woken up in my cell. Since I was being forced into a shower and made to put on the only clean clothes they could find for me, to try and gull the doctor into believing they treat prisoners with some semblance of humanity. I'm still wearing the nurse's uniform they gave me, and suddenly I feel a great urge to shower.

As soon as this thought comes to me, I nod. I need to shower. That'll feel like a start. Like a beginning to trying to get myself back on my feet again. A beginning to starting again.


	34. Fair Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "To me, fair friend, you never can be old." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 104

After laying in bed for a while, contemplating it, I decide against going to either of the camps. I lose my nerve, in the end. I'm truly worried that, based on Tom and Martin's reactions, if I went it would break me beyond repair. I already have such a long way to go to try to heal, I just don't think it's a good idea to add that to the list. I know that makes me a coward, and an incredibly selfish one at that, but once I've made the decision I can't go back on it.

I tell the boys as soon as they're all up and they seem rather pleased with my decision, which does make me feel a bit better. I do feel even more guilty now for causing such a scene yesterday with Tom, though - all of that, and saying some of the most horrible things I've ever said, and for what? I put up such a fight just to talk myself out of it. I can't linger on regrets though. If there's anything I think I've learnt from my time in Germany it's that regrets can absolutely tear you apart. I've spent years of my life in making myself feel guilty over the slightest things. I've decided to start making a conscious effort to give myself a bit of a break. Because, through all of my faults, I really am doing the best I can. Maybe my best isn't all that good at the moment, but I trust that soon it could be.

The boys leave me sitting at the kitchen table with Will's radio so they can go and see if anyone needs help with anything. The people who'd been in the camp have been moved to a hotel in town and the able-bodied locals have been tasked with burying the dead, but there are likely still jobs they can help with. I want to help but I'm still covered in cuts and bruises and the extra few days' unconsciousness has only really left me feeling incredibly sore. The pain of healing, however, is welcome, and I try to ignore it for that reason as much as possible.

A few cycles into my new practise of taking Will's radio apart and putting it back together again, George comes in. He sits beside me at the kitchen table in silence and watches for a while. After I've finished putting it back together again, he asks, "Can you teach me?" which makes me smile. I slide the radio across the table until it's between us and teach him how to do it.

After he's successfully taken it apart and put it together again with my coaching, he turns to me and asks, "Think you could do it with mine?"

A small smile tugs at my lips as I shrug. "Maybe. If you go and get it I can have a look. We could work it out together."

When he brings it back we're mostly quiet, but the company is nice. His radio is much larger than Will's is; it's the nature of going undercover that Will's radio needs to be easily concealed. Generally they're hidden in briefcases, which the one currently in front of me is, whereas George's is much too large to ever be concealed in the field. His gets strapped to his back and I wonder how he can even run and fire his gun whilst lugging it around, it's so big.

We work together quietly. He answers my questions as I try to work out the mechanics of his radio, and I answer his about how I know which wires to unplug and which dials to turn. We use our combined knowledge to take his radio apart, and smile proudly at the parts spread across the kitchen table before us.

I turn to George with a slight grin. "This part might be a tad bit harder, upon reflection," I say, referring to putting it back together again.

George rolls his eyes and laughs. "Yeah, probably. We got time, though, right?"

For what might be the first time in an incredibly long time, I actually do. Have time, that is. And that's a thought so liberating I can't help but keep that small smile on my face the entire time we're putting his radio back together again.

When we're finished, we share a grin and I clap my hands together. "Did it!" I exclaim, which makes him laugh.

"I am never takin' that thing apart again," he vows, which makes me giggle.

We both turn back to look at the two radios on the table, incredibly different in size and appearance. I lean my chin on my two fists as I gaze at them. After a few moments, I hear him let out the tiniest of sighs.

"I'm glad you're okay."

I smile. "I'm glad you are, too." And I mean it. Easy Company has lost so many good soldiers and even better men during its time in the war. I'm infinitely, forever glad George has made it this far. Endlessly glad.

We fall into idle conversation and I'm very grateful he doesn't try to ask me about my capture or anything. I judge by his countenance that he's not really willing to talk about what he saw and experienced at the camp yesterday, so I follow his lead and don't ask him about that, either. By the end of the conversation it's an echo of how we used to interact, back when we were those two very different people in Aldbourne. George is cracking jokes that have me in muted fits of giggles, and he takes my snarky remarks in stride to only retort something even snarkier. I've missed this more than I even knew before this moment. I hope he can tell how grateful I am for him.

He's halfway through telling a story from a few days ago when we hear the front door open and softly close again. We both look in its general direction, even though we can't see it from this side of the table, but I nudge him to prompt him to keep going.

He nods. "Right, well, anyway. This German fräulein," he says, which makes me laugh a little bit.

"You mean mädchen," I tell him, but he brushes me away.

"Yeah, right, sure. Anyway, this German fräulein -"

"Mädchen!"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Stop interruptin'." I shoot him a look, which makes him laugh, but he continues anyway. "She comes into the barn when Frank and I are trying to get some eggs, right?"

"Right," I tell him, affirming that I'm following his story.

"And so I'm offerin' her everything I've got. Cigarettes, chocolate - everything. I'm telling ya, this girl has robbed me _dry_."

I'm giggling at this point. "Any success, then?"

"Well, I got Frank to leave and this girl and I went around to the back of the barn." He wiggles his eyebrows here for emphasis. I pull a face, because if he really has had success then he needs to stop with this story right now. "Then she smacked me in the mouth."

"What?!" I have a hand pressed against my mouth immediately, trying desperately to contain the mixture of shock and amusement showing on my face. I can't, however, do anything about the giggles.

"Yeah!" he replies with equal enthusiasm. "Right across the jaw. Swear to God she gave me whiplash."

"Does it still hurt?" I manage to ask through quiet laughter.

He chuckles and makes a show of stretching out his jaw muscles. "You know what? Little bit."

"Want me to take a look?" Gene inquires. When I look up at him standing in the doorway, he's grinning.

George brushes him away easily. "Nah, I'll be fine, Doc. Ain't nothin' I can't handle."

"Ever the martyr," I comment, and George shoves me very gently for it.

He shoots me a smile before getting to his feet. Then he says to Gene. "Well, I assume you're not here to see little old me, so I'll be going."

As he's about to leave I laugh to myself. "George, your radio."

"Oh! Right. Can't forget that." He takes it and shoots me a subtle wink which has me rolling my eyes. "Hey, thanks for teachin' me. Next time this thing breaks I know who to come to."

I roll my eyes. "Will's who you'll want to be asking, really. I'm okay but he'll fix it within seconds. Wicked clever, he is."

George nods and I grin. "Don't go irritating any more German girls."

"Hey, you say 'irritating', I say - wait, what's that word you used to say? Back in Aldbourne?"

I laugh at this. "Woo?"

"Right! You say 'irritating', I say 'wooing'. Eventually I'm sure to get lucky."

"Goodbye, George!" I call after him and hear him laugh.

"Bye, Jules!"

When the front door closes behind George, I look up at Gene, who's already watching me. He crosses the room in merely a few quiet strides, the gift of his height, and takes a seat opposite me at the table.

Pushing the radio aside so I can see him better, I rest my chin in my hands and watch him curiously for a few moments. After a little while, he says, "How you feelin'?"

I smile softly at him and shrug. "Better. Yesterday was a lot, but today I'm feeling better."

"Good." He nods, seeming to settle something in his head. "That's good."

I nod and feel myself starting to get bashful under his gaze, so I look away. "Did you get some sleep in the end?"

I hear him chuckle lightly. "Yeah. Just woke up a little while ago."

"Good."

There's a short pause, but it's comfortable, not awkward. However, I've been wanting to ask him something for an awfully long time and I can't help but feel like now's my chance. I look back at him to ask, "Gene?"

"Hm?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had in the field in Aldbourne?"

His face screws up comically. "We had a whole lotta conversations in that field."

I laugh softly. "I mean the one where I told you about my top five fears."

He nods, smiling to himself. "Yeah, I remember." I knew it. I knew he'd have remembered my top fear was getting caught. That's not what I want to know, though.

"You know," I begin cautiously, careful not to push him too far, "you never told me yours. Your fears, I mean."

His eyes bore into me, but in his usual way, they're not intense. More, curious. Fascinated, almost. It's rather endearing. It makes his eyes widen a little bit and his brows furrow just slightly. It makes him look younger, more boyish. And definitely handsome.

He quirks a small smile. "Alright. I'll give you five, just like you gave me."

I nod and lean my elbows back on the table again so I can rest my chin in my hands and watch him closely.

"Number five is drownin'," he begins. Momentarily, I feel my heart stop. I'd never been afraid of drowning before, but after the hauptsturmführer tried it, I think I might be. I can still feel the burn of icy water in my lungs. I don't say anything though. This isn't about me. "Don't know why drownin' specifically. Been afraid of it since I was a kid."

I smile slightly at the image of Gene as a child, but nod for him to go on. "Number four is never gettin' to go back home, see my family. Not really a fear, I guess." He shrugs, and goes on, "Three is dyin'. Kind of the same as drownin', but I mean in general."

This makes me smile a tiny bit. "Wasn't dying my number three, too?"

He laughs. "Yeah. I think so."

"You never said at the time," I say softly.

He shrugs. "Wasn't about me."

I smile, though I don't think he knows why. "What's number two?"

"Not knowin' how to save someone." With the way he says it, and how he averts his eyes, I feel as though this is an awfully big confession. The fact that he's trusted me with it spreads a small amount of warmth through me, sneaking its way up from my toes. "I've seen so many of 'em die..."

"That's not your fault," I tell him.

He doesn't look up for a while - stuck in his memories, I think. After a while he draw his eyes back up to me, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips. "I already told you number one."

I smile a little bit. "I remember. Right before D-Day." He nods. "Number one is something happening to your family."

"Yeah."

He's a better person than I for having that as his number one. I'm selfish in my fears, really, but I can't help it. But he's always, always selfless, even without thinking about it. It's one of the things I love most about him.

"Mine have changed," I mention mindlessly after a few moments' silence. I can feel his eyes on me where I gaze at Will's radio. "I had some stupid ones back then."

He chuckles quietly. "What are they now?"

"Five is disappointing my parents. That's one of the surviving fears but it's moved down. I have new priorities now," I laugh a little bit but it's not all that funny. I rush to continue, "Four is losing the people I love. Three is..." I sigh and close my eyes. "Carbolic acid." I hate to even say those words. When I open my eyes again I fix them on the table. "Two is Hauptsturmführer Becker. One is concentration camps."

"You're not afraid of growin' old anymore," he comments quietly.

I shake my head with a bitter laugh. "No. I can't believe I ever said that. Growing old is..." When I look back up at him his eyes are gentle, reassuring. This fact makes me want to confide in him. "It was taken away from me once. And I would've given anything to grow old then. It's the same now."

God fucking damn it, Juliette. _Do. Not. Cry._

I manage to pull myself together after a few moments of willing the burning in my eyes to subside. I think I'm getting the hang of this, now - the whole holding back tears thing. God knows I need to, the amount I seem to be doing it these days.

Gene, of course, notices anyway. He was watching me closely when I told him my fears. When I look back up at him his eyes have softened, and he says, "C'mere."

So I do. Naturally. An offer I can't refuse.

"I'm not going to cry again," I tell him with a small laugh as I sit beside him and he pulls me close. I end up with my head on his chest and his arms wrapped around me. I close my eyes.

"It's alright if you do," he says. I imagine him to be wearing that small smile I love so much. The thought paired with his words makes me smile. From where I'm tucked against him I can hear his heartbeat. That makes me smile too.


	35. Hope is Incurable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable haemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed." - David Mitchell, Slade House

It's not long before we begin to move out of Landsberg. At some point or other I figure Tom must have told whoever's in charge of the company now about my presence because I've been given a set of paratrooper ODs again. I can't say I'm sad to see that nurse's uniform go; it was uncomfortable, and the thought that it once belonged to another spy who likely isn't alive anymore is unsettling in a way I can't even begin to express.

The four of us are supposed to be spread out across the troop trucks but Tom sticks by me for the journey again. I think he's worried that some of the men might pry about what happened if I'm left alone, and he knows as well as I do that those are questions I'm not ready to answer. In all honesty, I don't know whether I'll ever be able to answer them.

Will has my confessions tucked safely into his briefcase radio. I haven't looked at them since Tom used them to try to show me that I didn't actually 'confess' anything and I don't want to. Even though he insists I didn't tell the Nazis anything useful, it still makes my stomach turn to think of all that I did say. I try not to think about it.

I'm tucked between Tom and the side of the truck just like last time as we wait to leave, and I take the opportunity to look around at the town. It's bustling with activity with all of the soldiers moving out - not just Easy Company but Dog and Fox, too, I'm told. The enlisted men load into the vehicles seemingly at their leisure.

I don't turn to look at who's travelling with us and instead try to distract myself with watching the sky. It's a vibrant blue, only punctuated by a few stray clouds here and there. At the present moment one of these such clouds is concealing the sun so it's not too terribly bright out, either. Seeing the sky and feeling the sun on my skin are luxuries I don't think I'll ever take for granted again.

I'm not sure how much time has passed before I hear the resounding bang of the back doors of the open-topped vehicle being slammed closed. The noise makes me flinch so violently Tom rests a hand on my shoulder to steady me, and I hate that I'm so jumpy now. The sounds of doors slamming open and closed, of footsteps that are too loud and fast, even shouting voices, can get to me. I send Tom what I hope is a reassuring smile but he doesn't look convinced. To make sure I'm not surprised like that again I turn back around in my seat and face the bench opposite me. I find Joe Liebgott staring back at me.

"Hi," I say quietly, because I realise I haven't actually seen him yet since being back.

He musters a nod and a tiny smile. That smug smirk I've always associated with him is nowhere to be found. "Long time no see," he says.

"Yeah." I pause a moment, contemplating whether to ask. Eventually, I decide that it's perhaps better to check up on him and have him be irritated with me than to have him suffer in silence. So, tentatively, I ask, "Wie geht's?"

He seems mildly surprised, perhaps at the German as opposed to the question, but I know he speaks the language because Tom told me. I thought perhaps he'd be more willing to answer if he knew the other men couldn't understand him.

Joe watches me carefully for a few moments before finally replying, "Mir geht's gut. Und dir?"

I shrug. "Ja. Gut." I wait a beat before continuing. "Ich will dich nicht stören, aber wenn du mit jemandem sprechen willst, bin ich hier. Wenn du das willst."

I think, from the tiny smile that quirks up his lips, he appreciates the offer. In my current state I know that I don't really feel like talking and I think it's probably much the same for him but I want him to know that I would be there to listen if he ever decides he wants to talk.

After a moment, he replies, "Danke. Gleichfalls."

This makes me smile a little bit. "Danke."

After our small conversation fizzles out I look past Tom to the rest of our travel companions, and am mildly surprised when my eyes fall on Babe Heffron. I'm not so much surprised at his presence as his appearance; when I last saw him he was making his first jump into combat, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flushed cheeks and wild smiles. He was a typical replacement, in awe of the veterans and so eager to get in on the action. I suppose there must have been many waves of replacements since then, though; that would make him a veteran now, too.

He must feel my eyes on him for he turns to look back at me after a few moments, and when our eyes meet he sends me a small smile. I smile back, and he inclines his head to me before looking back ahead again. He looks so much older now - the last time I'd seen him he was so much a boy, now so much a man. I'm not entirely sure what happened whilst I was gone, and I'm not incredibly eager to ask, but it must have been something awful to take the light out of Babe Heffron's eyes. It makes me inexpressibly sad.

Hashey and Garcia sit with him, who were replacements at the same time as Babe. They look older now, too, and less innocent, though the change in them isn't as dramatic as it is with Babe. I think Babe especially must have experienced something difficult, and then I remember what happened to Bill and Toye. Even in the limited time I'd known them together, Bill and Babe were incredibly close; Bill had taken Babe under his wing and introduced him to the inner circle, becoming a sort of big brother to him. Babe must feel that loss greatly. Suddenly his downtrodden demeanour makes sense.

A little while into the journey I tug on Tom's sleeve and when he looks at me I ask, "Do you know where we're going?"

He nods and says, "A town called Thalem." He says nothing more, likely because he doesn't know anything else.

Nodding, I hug my arms around myself and take to watching the scenery we pass. I don't say anything but I really can't wait to get out of Germany. I can't shake the feeling that I'm just lying in wait of my next capture, which I know is stupid, but I just can't.

A little while later I decide to try to sleep; the German countryside is pretty, to be sure, but something in my stomach is making me feel unsettled. Trying my best to ignore it, I rest my head on Tom's shoulder and close my eyes.

Tom gently shakes me awake when we arrive at our destination and I look up to find what can only be described as debris. The town is in bits and pieces, houses bombed out and bits of furniture strewn across the street. The thought that this happened to London, _home_ , makes me feel a bit ill, so I turn away and focus on getting out of the troop truck without causing myself too much pain - I am, after all, still very much covered in cuts and bruises and trying to heal a broken rib.

When my feet hit the ground I turn around again and watch as though through a pane of glass as locals roam about attempting to clear up some of the damage. There are piles of rubble mixed in with furniture dominating the town centre, people standing atop them and passing down various belongings. I see one woman crying as she retrieves a framed photograph which wrenches my heart.

One of the military policemen wandering around charges past a few centimetres too close to me and as a result, automatically, I turn in the direction he'd been heading. When I do I find a group of men setting up a circle of chairs and getting out their instruments. After a few moments of getting settled, one elderly man raises his bow and begins to play softly on his violin.

I feel Tom come to stand beside me and spare him a glance before watching the small orchestra once more. "It's rather sad," I comment.

Tom places a hand on my shoulder and in my periphery I see him nod. "It is," he agrees. Then he says, "Let's go find the others. We could do with some food."

It takes me a few moments to tear my eyes away, but eventually I follow after Tom. I resolve to keep my eyes on the ground in front of me, watching the back of Tom's jump boots as he weaves his way through the town until we come upon Will and Martin. They're sitting on the floor in a bombed out house when we find them, chatting with some of the yanks. When they hear footsteps some of them turn, and Floyd shoots me a smile before shifting along a little bit to make space.

Settling in next to him, I send him a small smile back and watch as Malarkey tries to start a fire, presumably to cook something over.

"You look tired," Floyd tells me.

I laugh a little bit. "I slept on the journey here. Didn't wake up very long ago." When he nods his understanding I take the time to look at him properly. "You look exhausted," I say.

He forces a laugh. "Gee, thanks."

I shove his shoulder gently with an eye roll. "What, you're allowed to say it to me but I'm not allowed to say it to you?"

"'Tired' and 'exhausted' aren't the same," he points out with a small smirk. "Besides, you found this face attractive once."

"Floyd!" I exclaim through a short laugh. "When are you going to stop bringing that up?!"

He laughs. "Not sure. Probably never."

I laugh and turn back to the rest of the group gathered into our own little circle, letting the sounds of their idle chatter wash over me. It's strange to be back with them and not have Bill mouthing off somewhere, or Skip and Penkala cracking jokes. Malarkey looks like he feels their absence sorely; all of them look tired, but he looks exhausted to the point I worry he'll never recover. Even his hair, usually such a bright orange, looks duller. I don't know how that's even possible, but it does.

When he catches my eye I send him a small smile, which he returns before focusing back on cooking. I'm grateful at least one of them seemingly knows how to cook, considering between Tom, Martin, Will, and I we barely know how to even heat anything up.

I'm lost in thought, watching Malarkey cook mindlessly, when Floyd nudges me gently on the shoulder. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"

I turn to follow his line of sight and find Gene walking idly on the other side of the road, his hands tucked into his pockets and his head ducked. Turning back around, I shove Floyd and apologise to Shifty for his being collateral damage. Then I call out to Gene.

At the sound of his name his head shoots up, and his eyes find me almost instantly. I smile and gesture for him to come over, so he does, but instead of joining us he lingers outside, just beyond the line that marks where the wall of the house used to be. That makes me laugh a little bit.

"Hey, Doc, you joinin' us?" Malarkey asks mindlessly, glancing up at him once from his cooking.

"Come on, Gene, you've had a personal invitation," Spina teases. When I look back at him he's wearing a smug smirk, and he sends me a wink when he sees me looking.

I laugh to myself and roll my eyes, turning back around to gauge Gene's response.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he shrugs so Floyd moves up beside me, and I move up too, and Gene settles himself down between Tom and I. Tom engages him in conversation almost instantly, and I fall into an idle chatter with Floyd, Shifty, and Skinny.

The food Malarkey cooks is, to be blatantly honest, absolutely vile, but I'm so hungry I'll take anything at this point. That seems to be the general consensus, too, as he receives his fair share of complaints but everyone eats it all anyway.

Almost immediately after we all finish Nixon makes his presence known from behind me.

"So this is where all of you went," he comments, and though his words are joking, his tone isn't particularly humourous. He pauses a moment and looks between us all before saying simply, "Hitler's dead."

I suck in a sharp breath. "What?"

Nixon nods. "Shot himself in Berlin."

"Does that mean -" Skinny starts but Nixon quickly shakes his head.

"No. War's not over. And we have orders in Berchtesgaden. We're moving out again in half an hour."

As I'm mulling over these words I feel a hand on my shoulder and glance up to find Nixon trying his very best to offer a smile. "Glad to have you back," he says.

I can hear the sincerity in his words and read his earnestness on his face, which warms my heart a tad. I nod once and try to smile, too. "Thank you. Glad to be back."

Nixon quirks the tiniest of smiles, offers us all one final nod, and turns to walk away. He, too, looks like he's lost a large part of himself since I last saw him. Everyone seems to be a mere shell of who they were in Aldbourne.

I watch him go until he's out of sight and am the last to turn back to the group. "Shit," Malarkey mutters under his breath. I can't help but agree with his sentiments wholeheartedly.

"All of this and he gets to just shoot himself in the head," I mutter, still thinking about Hitler. When I look up Tom's watching me sadly.

The fact that Hitler's suicide hasn't ended the war makes me wonder what the hell it's going to take. The führer, the figurehead of the Third Reich, is dead; what else could possibly need to happen to get them to surrender?

No one speaks for a long while after that, and we filter back into the troop trucks in relative silence. Nixon's words weigh heavily on my mind all the while, and I don't sleep on the journey this time. Hitler's dead. I really can't believe it. He's dead and yet we're all still here. What the hell is it going to take to end this God forsaken war?


	36. Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

When we stop off at some German town or other, the majority of the houses are cleared of civilians in order to provide a place for everyone to stay. I know this is common practise but watching the family leave the house we've been billeted in makes my heart squeeze. A little girl emerges in her mothers arms, a teddy bear clutched tightly in her hands and tears welling in her eyes. I have a good mind to tell them all to stop it and that we'll just sleep outside but no one wants to listen to me.

I've been getting army rations since being with the company and it's the least I can do, so I approach the little girl and her mother slowly, making sure they can see me approaching first so I don't scare them. The mother watches me warily and the daughter begins to weep until I hold out the chocolate bar I've been issued to her.

The little girl simply stares at it for a few moments as though in a daze so her mother takes it from me instead. She offers me a small smile before unwrapping it with one hand and offering it to her daughter.

"Es tut mir so leid wegen deinem Haus," I say softly.

The woman nods at me but says nothing more.

Taking that as my cue to leave, I offer the little girl a smile before turning and returning to where I'd been waiting, leaning against the wall of the front garden. The woman and her daughter follow after who I presume are the father and son of their family, and I watch them disappear from sight.

I wait outside for a little while, taking in the growing darkness and the sound of the birds singing in the trees. Being outside is something I rather treasure now after not having had any fresh air at all for five months. When Tom comes outside to find me I'm sitting atop the wall, stargazing.

"Food," he says simply. He hands me one of the small metal bowls the army use along with a spoon.

I poke around at it for a while before catching sight of the look Tom's giving me, and then eat it as quickly as I can without giving myself indigestion. When I'm finished he takes it back from me wordlessly, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he sits up beside me on the wall.

"Tom," I begin after a while of silence. When I glance at him he nods. "Do you regret becoming a spy?"

Tom considers the question for quite a while. If I didn't know him so well I might think that he's chosen not to answer it, but I know his ticks when he's thinking hard about something. He runs his hands through his fair hair repeatedly, and each time he does it the strands catch the moonlight and dance in it.

After what is perhaps three minutes he answers, "I don't think so." When I look at him, he explains, "I always had a lot of friends growing up but I've never really had _close_ friends before. Not proper close friends. And I've definitely never had a best friend. It might sound silly to say, or trivial, but I think I'd like to keep that. Knowing what it's like to have friends that you care for so much they're family."

This makes me smile, and I wrap my arms around his waist. "You're the best friend I've ever had. Do you know that?"

Tom laughs a little bit. I feel him wrap an arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, Jules. I know."

"You're more of a brother, really. In every way except blood."

"You wrote those exact words in your confession, I'm pretty sure."

I laugh a little bit, though really I want to cry, and close my eyes. "Yeah," I say eventually, "I think I did."

"In the part where you got caught," he adds.

I sigh. "Yeah."

"You said you wanted it to be me," he whispers. I screw my eyes shut tighter. "Did you really think that? At the time?"

"Yes," I whisper back. "Yeah, I really did. Those exact words. 'I want it to be you'."

He doesn't say anything for a few moments. When he does, he sucks in a large amount of breath beforehand, perhaps to steady himself. "That made me cry, that part. The way you wrote it."

I nod. "Me too."

"Seeing it through your eyes," he continues, and I feel him shake his head from where his chin rests atop my head. "I just - I'm so glad I didn't pull the trigger because you're back now and I don't know how I'd ever live knowing that you were gone forever. But seeing it from your perspective kind of - kind of made me think that maybe I really should've just done it."

All I seem to be able to say is, "Tom," so I hug him tighter, and he hugs me tighter, too. That's all that needs to be said anyway, it seems, for he doesn't reply either. And I really, truly, cannot imagine a life without him by my side. I really can't.

"Where were you for Christmas this year?" I ask him after a long while of silence.

"Bastogne," he replies. "In the Ardennes. Beligum."

"And it snowed," I add.

He laughs slightly, a bit bitterly. "It was the coldest I've ever been. Colder than cold. I hate snow now. Despise it. I never want to see snow again in my life."

"And that was where Bill and Joe..."

"Yeah," Tom replies through a sigh. "And Skip and Penkala. And Hoobler - he got a luger that went off by accident, cut the artery in his leg. And Smokey's paralysed. It was..." Another sigh. I think he changes what he's about to say when he pauses and sighs again, before saying, "It was really hard on Gene. And Spina, the replacement medic you met the other day. But it was really, really hard on them, on Gene especially. We had no winter clothing, hardly any ammo, all cut off so we were running out of food and water too. And he had basically no medical supplies. Had to scrounge morphine from people's personal medical kits, try and scout out other regiments to beg off them. Some of the guys had other problems, too - trench foot or pneumonia or other such things. I don't know how he did it."

"That's why everyone looks so sad now," I say after a short while. "And tired."

"Bastogne was hard on everyone," Tom admits. "Constant barrages, day and night. Freezing cold foxholes. It was hell on earth."

I nod because it really does sound like it.

I take to stargazing again in the silence that follows, counting the stars at one point and then making patterns out of them at another. I've never been good with constellations but I know that Will knows them. I think I'll get him to teach me. I close my eyes when I start to get tired, and without really thinking, say, "It's been over a year now since Alex..."

"It's been a difficult year," Tom says by way of agreement.

"I wonder if he's keeping an eye on us," I comment absentmindedly, fiddling with a thread on Tom's ODs.

Tom laughs. "Probably shaking his head at us more often than not."

"With that small frown of disapproval he used to wear, which so desperately wanted to tug up into a smile."

Tom laughs and I smile fondly at the memory.

"Sometimes," I begin quietly, "I think I've forgotten what he looks like. Or the sound of his voice. And I hate that. But then sometimes someone will say something that he might have said and I can hear his voice in my head clear as day. Or someone will do something that he used to do and I'll see him so clearly it's like I saw him yesterday."

"I miss him," Tom confesses.

I nod. "Me too."

"He wouldn't have let you get caught."

"No," I agree, a twinge of melancholy revealing that I'm infinitely saddened by Tom's train of thought, "he would've pulled the trigger. And I wouldn't be here with you right now, having this conversation."

"He loved you," Tom begins to protest.

I sit up so I can look him in the eye. "I know he did. But he would've done it, I know he would. And that's not a bad thing. But just because you didn't that's not a bad thing either. Alex might've done it and saved me the torture, but you not doing it allowed me the rescue. And I've never really thanked you for that. So thank you."

Tom shakes his head, tears glistening in his eyes. "You always know just what to say," he says, and I laugh.

"I definitely don't," I protest through a small laugh of my own, "but sometimes the truth is all you need to hear."


	37. Smiles from the Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hope / Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, / Whispering 'it will be happier'..." - Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Foresters

The road to Berchtesgaden is one that seemingly doesn't want to be travelled. Or, at least, the Nazis who once lived there didn't want us to travel it, so under Hitler's final command they've blocked the roads in whatever ways they can. Each of the company's troop trucks are stopped in a queue trying to get in and have been for over half an hour now. A few of the men have gotten out either to stretch their legs or make various attempts to get the boulders out of the way, so I'm lying down across one of the benches of the trucks with my eyes closed into the sunlight, feeling its warmth draped over me.

Every now and then a resounding bang, indicating another mortar or bazooka has been fired at the road blocks, will stop my heart and make me jolt in place, but they're becoming fewer and farther between now that they don't seem to be making any difference.

"Havin' fun?" asks a southern drawl I'd recognise anywhere, seeming to appear out of nowhere. When I peak an eye open, Gene's got his arms leaning on the railing of the troop truck, right by where I'm laying. He's gazing down at me with a grin.

"So much," I reply with a grin of my own. After a moment's thought I smile to myself and hold my arm out up to him. "Will you roll up my sleeves for me, like you did before D-Day?"

Gene laughs and shakes his head but he does it anyway. I close my eyes again and concentrate on the feeling of his hands on my sleeves, smiling to myself. When taps my wrist to let me know he's finished, I drop my arm and raise my other one so he can do the same again.

"Y'know," he says after he begins rolling up that sleeve too, "you could do this yourself."

I open both eyes this time to see him laugh when I pout. "When I try it's not as good as when you do it," I insist. This, of course, is true - he does everything better than I do - but when he rolled up my sleeves last time they stayed that way for days, even through the jump into Normandy. When I do it, they fall down within minutes.

When he taps my wrist again to indicate that he's done I return my arm to my side and send him my most winning smile. "Thank you."

He chuckles to himself. "You're welcome."

When I hear another bang I flinch and decide to finally sit up. I turn my body until one leg is propped up on the bench in front of me, and look to the boulders blocking our path. "Are they having any success?"

Gene shrugs. "Don't think so. Apparently the engineers were supposed to be here half an hour ago."

I pull a face which makes him laugh softly before turning back to him.

"You know," I begin, smirking slightly, "I've been to Berchtesgaden before."

His eyebrows hop up in surprise. "You have?"

"Well," I begin with a small laugh, "Juliette Chevalier hasn't been to Berchtesgaden. But a maid named Katharina Bauer has."

He catches my meaning and laughs a little bit. "What's it like?"

I shrug. "I was there was a few years ago now but at the time it was a very unassuming, pretty alpine village. It was flooded with German socialites, which I reckon it isn't now, and, above all, a whole lot of Nazis. Hopefully this time around, without either of those things and without having to pretend to be a maid, I'll enjoy it better."

"What were you doin' there?"

I'm not really supposed to tell him, but I've reasoned with myself that I've already told the Nazis a lot of what I've done in the past, and if I've told my enemy then I can definitely tell my allies.

"Stealing intel," I tell him with a shrug. "Another team was supposed to get it but something went wrong - I'm not sure what - so they sent us to get it from the man at the top. Not Hitler, but some incredibly high up general or other. I stole it from his hotel room and we left that same day."

"What year?" he asks, as he always does after I tell him about something I've done. He likes to test me, I think, or he gets a kick out of the fact I can always remember. Either way, I always humour him.

"'41," I answer instantly, and smile when I see him grin.

"Easy Company!" a voice suddenly bellows. The pair of us turn to the direction of the road blocks to watch Captain Speirs, who is now the company CO, shout out orders.

It's not long before all of us are filing out of the troop trucks and entering Berchtesgaden on foot, though no one really minds; not being stuck out in the blazing sun on the side of a mountain is a welcome change of pace.

Just as I remember it, Berchtesgaden is an unassuming, pretty alpine village. Cookie-cutter houses line up on either side of the road, quintessentially German and incredibly upper class. Paper that has been scattered across the floor in its abandonment whisks about in the soft breeze, the only sound beyond the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. It is completely deserted. No one wanted to go down with this ship, apparently - which is, I have to admit, the way it should be.

I watch with mild interest as the officers' jeep races off towards the hotel I once pretended to work in and assume that that's where they'll be billeted. The enlisted, among which the boys and I are considered, will likely be put up in houses, which isn't a bad thing considering they're all incredibly well furnished and decorated. That's not for me to decide, however, so I don't let the thought linger.

With Easy Company at the front of the pack and without any of its officers now that they've raced off into the hotel, the enlisted along with the boys and I gather seemingly subconsciously into a group. Some of the men, of course, are already out exploring, but I'd say the majority remain gathered in the town centre. There's limited conversation, however, as all eyes seem to be instinctively drawn towards the Eagle's Nest, just as Hitler intended it.

"I wanna take the Eagle's Nest," Alton More announces into a short silence. I look to him and can't help but grin because he's wearing an expression of such determination that he looks almost angry.

"Well," George replies levelly, "go ask Winters. Don't know why you're tellin' us, as if we can do anythin' about it."

More sends him a pointed look and promises, "I will," and with that he's practically sprinting towards the hotel.

My eyes seek out one of the boys in the crowd and land on Martin. I know what he's thinking from the look in his eyes and I can tell he knows what I'm thinking by the look in mine. We want in on invading the Eagle's Nest.

I make my way slowly, inconspicuously, through the crowd towards him, and Tom and Will join us on the outskirts of the circle of men a few moments later. All we have to do is share a look and we're off to the side to make our own plan.

After Tom has delegated orders, I see Will go a little bit pale, "Won't we be in trouble? If we get caught? I mean, we don't have permission."

I smile and tap him once on the cheek. "Dearest William," I begin, watching as he looks between Martin and Tom before turning back to me, "we're spies. We never have permission."

Will takes one last glance at Martin and then nods. "Okay. Fair point. Let's go."

"There he is!" I cheer, keeping my voice down so we don't draw any unwanted attention. This is a spies-only mission.

After we've managed to sneak our way into the solid gold elevator, which is the only way in, I share a grin with the boys. "Our very last mission," I tell them.

They each laugh a little bit.

"How have we made it here?" Tom asks with a grin. I hug him round the waist and then pull Martin in too, and suddenly we're bundled into a group hug that's full of grins and quiet cheers. Because, really, how the hell have we made it here?

When the door to the elevator opens we pull apart and jump back into professional mode, because some of the men of the company, likely including the officers, are already here, and we really don't want to get caught. Technically, they're not exactly our superiors, but Winters is the kind of man you don't want to disappoint. It would make you feel like an absolute heathen if you did.

We sneak out of the elevator and press ourselves against the stone walls, two on either side of the hallway. Distantly, I hear the popping of corks and share a grin with Martin beside me. "Champagne!" I mouth to him, and watch as he laughs silently.

With stealth and precision which can only be achieved through top-tier training we sneak our way through the Eagle's Nest, entering rooms and looking around then exiting right before anyone notices we've been there. Along the way each of us acquires our own bottle of champagne, though we collectively decide not to open them until we're back out in the open lest the popping of corks should give us away.

The stone walls and floor give the light that filters in a sort of soft, ethereal glow, and indeed an awful lot of light filters in, for in place of windows there are just huge gaps in the walls. Everything is furnished to the highest standard and must have costed an absolute fortune; I can't help my jaw hanging open in awe at the sheer size and opulence of some of the rooms.

We make our way back out of the Eagle's Nest a little while later, anxious not to push our luck. By the time the elevator doors open back on the mountain, each of our champagne bottles has been popped.

Martin, in true Martin fashion, has one in each hand and is sipping from them both, whilst the rest of us have contented ourselves with just the one. If I had more than one I'd be in big trouble, in any case, and Will would be unconscious, so that's probably for the best.

However, whilst Martin and I lead our quartet back down the mountain, he bribes me into a drinking game, so then I end up drinking from one of his bottles as well as my own. By the time we reach the bottom of the mountain, Martin's tipsy, Tom's pissed, I'm drunk, and Will's wasted.

"There's no way -" Will chokes out, laughing hysterically all the while, "they're not gonna know -" he wheezes, "we went there now."

This only makes my giggles intensify. "We'll say we got it from - from -" I'm speaking without knowing where my sentences are going by now.

"The hotel?" Tom guesses with a wide grin.

I click my fingers and jump a little bit on the spot. "The hotel! We'll say we got it from the hotel!"

"Will you be able to keep your mouth shut, Jules?" Martin wonders, smiling broadly. He takes another sip of his champagne with a smirk. "You love to spill out your life story when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk!" I protest, though I have no idea why. He knows I'm drunk, _I_ know I'm drunk, literally everyone we pass on the street knows I'm drunk. Plus, I haven't had alcohol for about six months, so I'm kind of, like, mega-drunk.

"Sure you're not," Tom says with a laugh that's definitely louder than necessary.

The town centre isn't as busy anymore by the time we get back there, so there's no real need to hide, which is good because I don't know how that would work in our current states. Not yet having received where we're billeted (obviously, since we've been in the Eagle's Nest) we merely carry on down the road. Eventually, we stumble upon a lot of the enlisted men sitting around at the tables set up outside what likely used to be a restaurant.

"Look!" I exclaim upon seeing them, and hold up my bottle to show them.

Martin groans and shoves my arm back down. "Jules!"

"It's from the hotel!" I then call out to them, remembering the conversation we had on the mountain. Martin rolls his eyes.

Will scoffs. "No it isn't!"

"You two are such a bloody nightmare!" Tom huffs out from where he's now standing with the men, but he's laughing riotously.

"Where's it from, Will?" George calls out.

Will presses a finger lazily to his lips, swaying as though he's about to fall over. "Promise you won't tell," he says when we're closer.

"Will!" I whine, and grab his arm.

"What?!" he whisper-yells at me.

"Tom said -" I begin to explain in my own pitched whisper before Martin cuts me off.

"See, this is why we should've given them a bottle to share. One each and they're just trouble."

"You gave me some of yours," I point out to him.

He laughs abruptly. "Yeah, well, that was a lapse in judgement."

Someone laughs and I turn to find Liebgott watching us, reclined in his seat. "Whatever they're drinking, I want some. Where'd you actually get it?"

"That's a secret," I reply, walking over to him.

"I won't tell," he promises, laughing.

But I shake my head. "They'll shout at me."

"Jules, I hope you're not blabbing!" Tom calls from behind me.

I widen my eyes at Joe as if to say 'I told you so'. "See?!" Then I offer the bottle to him. "Want some?" But he only laughs and shakes his head, so I take another sip myself.

Someone comes up on my right and I turn to find Gene. "Gene!" I exclaim and throw my arms around him. He catches me immediately and I hear him laugh.

"Come sit down, chérie," he says gently, guiding me over to where he'd been sitting with Spina. Spina's a funny guy, I like him quite a lot.

"Spina!" I cheer when Gene's sat me down.

Spina laughs. "My God, you're fuckin' wasted."

"I'm not!" I protest, affronted, even though I clearly am.

He laughs and holds his hands up palms-forwards in surrender. "Alright, you're not."

I giggle at him and then incline the neck of the bottle towards him. "Want some?" He shakes his head, still laughing, so I turn to Gene on my other side, "Want some?" He laughs and shakes his head too, so I pout. "If you don't drink some of this I think I'll actually die."

Spina rolls his eyes but he holds out a hand for the bottle, which makes me grin proudly as I hand it over. I clap happily when he takes a swig before handing it back to me.

"Gene?" I offer once more. When he rolls his eyes I laugh and Spina scoffs.

"Come on, Gene. Live a little."

I share a grin with Spina. "Yeah, Gene. Live a little."

Before Gene can protest, shouts draw our attention away, and coming into view from the direction I've just come from are Malarkey, More, and Chuck Grant. Between them, they're carrying more alcohol than I think I've ever seen three men hold.

"Drink up, boys!" More calls, clearly also tipsy. The three of them set the bottles down on the first few tables they come to. "We've taken the Eagle's Nest!"

Spina makes sure to get two bottles for him and Gene, and I drink with the two of them for a while. A little bit later, however, I'm dragged away by Tom to some conversation or other, and by the time night has fallen I've made rounds with basically every single table.

I end up sitting with George, Malarkey, Floyd, and Skinny, and whilst I've been sipping they've been swigging so we're all relatively the same level of intoxicated. George keeps trying to sing and Malark's practically screaming, I can't stop giggling and neither can Skinny, and Floyd is moving around so much I wonder whether he's trying to dance to George's music or whether he just really badly needs the toilet.

I've run out of champagne by this point but everyone is more than happy to share whatever they've got with me, and God knows where we're going to sleep tonight because no one's actually been billeted yet, but does anyone really care?

Even in my intoxicated state, I take care to spend a moment just looking around at everyone and locking that memory into my mind - the image of all of the Americans and my boys, completely wasted and carefree after having taken the Eagle's Nest. And I think, without a shadow of a doubt, that one day when I'm old, if I ever do actually grow old, I'll look back on this memory and I'll smile, because it'll be one of the fondest in my repertoire. And to think that, whilst I'm still experiencing it, makes everything glow a little bit brighter, and feel a little bit warmer, even in the cold of the breeze.


	38. Whatever Our Souls are Made Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same..." - Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

When I wake up the next day I'm more than a little bit surprised that I don't have the searing headache that usually accompanies my hangovers. A very vague, very blurry memory tells me that this is because of the buckets of water Gene made me drink last night, which makes me laugh a little bit, because how, when he was drinking too, was he still taking care of other people? It baffles me but I'm endlessly grateful for it now.

Still, even Gene couldn't save me from the fate of throwing up seemingly everything I've ever eaten. A bottle and a half of champagne mixed with whatever everyone else was giving me will do that to a person, but I can't find it in me to be too overly disgruntled; I think I needed last night.

After I've cleaned my teeth and relined my stomach, I hop in the shower and stay there for what is probably close to half an hour. Letting the water wash away any of the remnants of a hangover, I lather up my hair generously and that's when I decide exactly what I want to do today.

I brush through my wet hair and make quick work of dressing before setting off to find someone with a very special skill set I'm currently coveting.

I find Joe Liebgott looking half-dead, just having woken up from a coma-like sleep, but he humours me anyway.

Joe leads me into the bathroom of the house he's been billeted in and bustles around for a little while until he finds what he's looking for. When he does, he lets out a quiet 'Aha!' before coming to stand behind me where we've dragged a chair in to face the mirror. "So, how short are we thinking?" he asks. He's staring me in the eyes curiously through the reflection.

"Maybe to the shoulders?" I think aloud. My voice sounds uncertain now that it's coming down to it. "Or just below? What do you think? You're the expert."

Joe laughs a little bit to himself and rolls his eyes. He runs a comb through my still-wet hair to brush out the knots and considers it for a few moments. Then he brushes through it again and leaves the comb about a centimetre below my shoulders. "How about there?"

I stare back at my reflection for a few moments, trying to imagine myself with hair that length, before I give up and decide that my imagination has failed me. I suck in a deep breath and exhale it with my words, "Yeah, okay. Go for it."

"Are you sure?" Joe asks, watching me closely. "I can cut a little bit off first and then you can decide whether you wanna keep going," he offers.

I meet his eyes in the reflection and shake my head, more certain now. "I'm sure. The guards used to drag me to the interrogation room by my hair. I want it gone."

Something in his eyes hardens and he nods once. He spares me one last careful look in the mirror before lining up the scissors and making one big snip. He bends down to pick up the hair he's just cut off and then holds it up so I can see it in the mirror, grinning. "That's a whole lotta hair you're losing."

I laugh. "Good riddance."

Joe laughs too and shakes his head slightly before continuing to cut my hair. I shut my eyes for most of it and concentrate on keeping still. I don't want to see it until he's done, and God forbid I lose my nerve halfway through and make him stop.

He takes around forty-five minutes in total but I don't mind so much. He uses the comb frequently to make sure everything's straight and I trust that, with the amount of care and time he's taken, he's done a good job. He brushes through my hair one final time and then I hear him put his comb and scissors down. His hands come to rest on my shoulders as he says, "You're all finished."

I suck in another deep breath to steady myself before opening my eyes. When I see what I look like now I gasp and a hand automatically comes up to cover my mouth.

"I love it," I declare immediately, a whisper but no less sincere. "Oh, Joe, I love it!"

"Yeah?" he asks, smiling wider now.

I hop out of the chair and hug him tightly. "Thank you so much!" When I pull back from him he's smiling in earnest; not smirking or grinning, just smiling. "I know that to you it's just cutting hair, but you'll never understand what you've done for me, doing this."

He shrugs a little bit bashfully. "Hey, if this can help you move on then I'd do it a million times over."

I smile and turn back to the mirror, and he looks at the reflection with me.

"What do you think?" I ask him. I'm suddenly wondering whether my judgement might be clouded simply because I've still been able to feel the hauptsturmführer's hands in my hair ever since being rescued.

Joe smirks. "You look hot."

This makes me laugh and I nudge him in the shoulder gently before hugging him again. "Oh, thank you, Joe. So much. Is there any way I can repay you?"

When I pull back to look at him he shakes his head and brushes me away. "Nah, don't worry about it. It's my pleasure."

I insist upon cleaning up all my old hair myself, and throwing it away is more liberating than I could've even imagined. I've had to keep my hair long this entire war, regulations for being a female spy, and cutting it off, especially so much of it, feels like a new beginning. I'm not Juliette the spy anymore, I'm just Juliette, and I think I'm much improved because of it.

When I arrive back at the house I've been put up in with the boys, Will spots me first.

"Jules!" he exclaims instantly, seemingly unable to help himself. "Your hair!"

I laugh a little bit and nod. "What do you think?"

He grins. "It's pretty. I like it."

I giggle at him and shake my head. "Thanks, Will."

When I pass through into the kitchen I find Martin, and he looks up at me with an unfazed expression.

"Hair?" he asks simply. I laugh and nod, so he nods too. "Looks nice."

"Thanks." Believe it or not, that actually means a lot coming from him and I know he's being genuine, which is lovely.

Tom must have heard the news from Will's enthusiastic exclamations because he comes bounding into the kitchen mere seconds later. "Let me see!" he practically shouts, and skids to a stop in front of me. "It's so much shorter!"

I can't help but laugh. "It's not that short. Just below the shoulders."

"It's short _er_ though," he counters.

I roll my eyes but I'm still smiling. "What do you think? Good or bad?"

"Definitely good," he replies with a grin. "Give us a twirl!"

I laugh and do as he says, hearing Will cheer from where he's obviously been watching from the living room.

"Do _you_ like it?" Tom asks me once I'm facing him again.

I nod without even having to think about it. "I do." I contemplate whether to explain myself before deciding that maybe I want to; it's more of a desire to let them in as opposed to an obligation to let them know. "I used to get dragged around by my hair. I feel like I can start afresh now."

Tom smiles sadly and draws me into a hug. "I'm proud of you," he says quietly so only I can hear.

I laugh and nuzzle my head further into his shoulder. "Don't make me cry." This makes him laugh.

I set off back out into the streets of Berchtesgaden again soon afterwards under the guise of wanting some fresh air. I know who I'm looking for but I choose not to admit it, even to myself.

The village is quieter today than it was after our arrival yesterday - I think the group of us who were celebrating into the early hours of the morning weren't the only ones, and even though it's early afternoon, everything has a certain stillness to it. A certain calmness.

I find Gene strolling along a quiet side road, a cigarette perched between his lips and his hands in his pockets. He sees me instantly and stamps out his cigarette, meeting me halfway until we're standing at the end of a peaceful road tucked out of the way of the main street.

He simply smiles down at me for a few moments, and I smile up at him in turn. After a short while, he says, "You cut your hair."

I nod, feeling shy all of a sudden. "Well, not me personally. Joe did it. But yeah. I fancied a change." He nods and smiles to himself and I find myself chewing on my bottom lip. "Do you like it?" I ask bashfully. I tug subconsciously at the ends of the front strands as though I'm trying to make them longer.

Gene smiles wider and comes a bit closer. "You look beautiful," he says, which makes me smile brightly. "Ma belle Juliette," he adds quietly, almost as though he's speaking to himself.

I catch myself looking down to hide my blush but then decide I want to see his face. When I look up I find he's closer now than he was before, and I feel myself smiling again.

"My heart is beating so fast," I tell him quietly, because it's true. I am so much past lying to people. I want to tell the truth.

His eyes never leave my face but that small smile I've come to love so much tugs desperately at his lips. And then he says, "Mine too," which surprises me, because why is his heart racing as well?

I glance between his eyes and his chest, as though looking for evidence, and slowly, tentatively raise a hand. He watches me closely, so I know he knows what I'm about to do. I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart, and feel it pounding rapidly. I look back up at his eyes with the brightest of smiles before taking his hand and placing it over my own heart, so he can feel it racing at the same time as I feel his.

The most wondrous smile appears on his face, and his eyes never leave mine.

"They're the same," I tell him softly. And I want to kiss him so badly because he's looking at me as though he's endlessly fascinated by what he sees.

But he beats me to it. He has a habit of doing that. The most wonderful habit. I love all of his habits. I want to live in this moment forever.

As our lips move in sync I know that _this_ is what it's supposed to feel like. Where all of the others had been hasty and forceful, all desperation, intensity, and fire, he's slow and gentle. His kisses are soft but no less passionate, a whisper of his adoration. Something about the tenderness of how he kisses me makes me sense that I truly mean something to him. It makes me feel beautiful.

When we finally draw apart I can't help my beaming smile. "Second time lucky, right?"

He laughs. "Should we go for a third?"

I kiss him before he can even gauge my answer, hopping up onto my tiptoes and holding onto his shoulders. He catches me, just like he always does, and I feel him smile as he kisses me back. I can't help but think that if I'd known this was what it was like to kiss him back when we were in Aldbourne I would've just done it myself, and much sooner too. But some part of me thinks maybe it was worth the wait because now I never want to stop doing it.

When we pull apart a second time I hug him tightly. I want him to understand all of the affection I feel for him. I want him to know that he's loved.

He hugs me back equally as tight and that's when a voice draws our attention away. "Just kiss her already!"

"William!" I shout back without even having to look, but I'm laughing and so is Gene. And I think in this moment I'm happy. Not entirely healed, but happy, and for now that's more than enough.


	39. Its Voyage Closed and Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,  
> From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;"  
> \- Walt Whitman, O Captain! My Captain!

I see in the morning of the seventh of May with sunlight streaming in through the window and warm blankets pulled up to my chin. I can't help but just lay there for a while, listening to the birds chirping outside and feeling the warmth of the morning light on my skin. The war isn't over yet, but it almost kind of feels like it is.

When I come downstairs Will's already there, sitting on the sofa and fiddling with his radio (as always). When he hears me come in he looks up and sends me a small smile before picking up something he'd had sitting on the chair beside him. He holds the stack of paper out to me. My confession.

Taking it from him, I send him a small smile and utter my thanks before making my way into the kitchen and out into the garden, where I sit on the back step and contemplate the stack of paper now sitting in my lap. The events I detail in it seem like a lifetime ago, the time I wrote them not nearly long enough ago. I remember everything so vividly, both what I wrote about and my time in interrogation.

My fingers dance across the first page, my eyes not seeing the words really but unfocussing so I can gaze down at it as though perhaps it's a love letter I hold and not my confession to the Gestapo. A really extensive love letter. Then I smile to myself because perhaps, in a way, it is. I think my confession is more about everyone I know than it is about what I did. I think, above all, my confession is about family, the one I left behind and the one I found. Suddenly, for the very first time, I'm rather inclined to read it.

I'm broken out of my trance, however, when I hear the back door open behind me. I turn to find Tom standing there with a small smile on his face, and he holds out a hand to help me up. "Tab's here," he says. "Apparently he's got news we might like to hear."

I nod and get to my feet quickly; Floyd's the company First Sergeant now, and has been for a while, which means he gets information in advance of the other enlisted. Whatever he has to say that he thinks we might be interested in is something I definitely want to hear.

Tom leads me back through the kitchen, where I set my confession on the kitchen table, and into the living room, where Floyd waits with Will and Martin. When Tom and I come to stand before him to complete our team, he sends us each a smile in turn.

Floyd pauses and inhales a heavy breath. Then, he says simply, "The Germans have surrendered. The war's over."

I feel all of the air leave my body immediately and suddenly everything goes blurry. It's over. Those two words repeat over and over in my head. It's over. It's over. It's over.

I didn't think it would ever end.

Tom grabs me in a hug and that's when I start to cry.

"Jules!" he shouts through a loud laugh and I can't help but laugh too. He picks me up and spins me around and when he sets me back down again I hug him to me once more. "Jules!" he says again.

I laugh. "Tom!"

I'm still crying by the time I'm hugging Will, and even harder when I'm hugging Martin. I don't know where Floyd went but I presume he left us to go and tell the others. I don't think on it too long because I'm quickly pulled into the tightest group hug I've ever experienced.

"We made it!" Will cheers. Like me, he has tears streaming down his cheeks.

"We did it!" I add, my smile so beaming my cheeks are starting to ache.

"After everything," Martin says, a note of disbelief in his voice. We all pull back to look at each other, smiling and teary. "After everything, we made it."

And then I start to sob. I can't help it. It's all just a bit much.

As Tom pulls me into another hug I hear Martin complain, "If only we'd kept that bloody champagne!" and laugh through my tears. Before long Will and Martin have bundled on top of the hug, and we're all huddled together in a group again.

"Thank you all," I say, laughing and crying at the same time, "for everything. For absolutely everything."

"Why am I crying?" Will says, and we all laugh.

"I couldn't have done it without you lot," Tom says. I notice then that he's crying a bit, too. "Couldn't have done any of it without you."

"God, I bloody love you bunch of buggers," Martin says, and it's so simultaneously in and out of character that we all laugh.

"I love you all so much!" I say, and then everyone's repeating it.

"I love you all so much!"

"I love you all so much!"

"I love you all _so_ much!"

We all pull back from the hug still very much teary and overwhelmed, but also still very smiley and giggly. We all take one look at each other and start laughing.

"Lets go find some alcohol," Martin says. With that, we all follow him out of the front door.

As we walk the streets of Berchtesgaden together, laughing and smiling and crying, we're practically hanging off of each other. Tom has an arm around my shoulders and I have an arm around Will's waist, Will's clinging to Martin's ODs and Martin has his hand on Will's shoulder. I get the feeling we won't be letting go for a while.

When we find the alcohol we're coveting we sit ourselves down on the floor on the side of the road, as close to each other as we can get. As much as we're filled with joy because the war's over, it feels like something good is ending, too. Something special.

As we're all taking turns swigging from the two bottles of whatever we managed to find I take care to look between the three faces sat around me, and I am overcome with emotion. I love them all so much. I have never loved a group of people as much as I love them, I'm so sure of it.

"Why are you crying, Jules?" Tom asks, nudging me playfully in my side.

I hadn't even realised I was but I laugh a little bit as I wipe away my tears. "Because now that it's over, I kind of don't want it to end. Not the war, but us. Spending every day with you lot. I don't want to say goodbye."

"It's not goodbye yet, you silly bugger," Martin says, ruffling my hair affectionately.

"Don't think about the future," Tom suggests, pulling me into his side. "Just focus on right now, okay?"

I nod and smile and wrap my arms around his waist. "Okay."

A little while later, when both bottles are finished, we all turn at the sound of raucous cheers and shouts coming from the other end of the road. We all laugh as we watch a whole herd of Easy Company come barrelling along, all holding onto each other as well. I surmise that they've also heard the news.

As soon as George, at the front of the group as always, notices us sitting on the pavement, he cheers. "Hey! Happy VE-Day!"

"Happy VE-Day!" we all shout back, and suddenly all of the yanks are cheering and shouting at us.

They approach looking more than a little bit intoxicated, but so are we, with so many bottles of alcohol in their hands I think it might even be more than we had the other night after first arriving. Near the back of the group I see Floyd with his arm slung around Gene, towing him along with them, and can't help my beaming smile; he's making sure he's involved, which fills my heart with so much love for both of them.

"Gene!" I call, jumping up and running to him.

Floyd lets go of him and gives him a gentle push in my direction, and he catches me in the hug I throw at him immediately. In both of our enthusiasm he lifts me off of the ground and I laugh brightly, hearing him laughing too.

When I pull back Floyd's watching us, so I hug him quickly as well. Floyd grins and hugs me tightly back, but he doesn't make any comments. When he lets me go I go back to Gene immediately, wrapping my arms around his waist whilst one of his comes to rest over my shoulders.

"I can't believe it's over," I tell him, watching the others with a smile.

I feel his eyes on me so I look up and find him smiling too. "How many fears does this cross off your list?"

I grin and think about it. Eventually, I reply, "Three. Guess I'm on the lookout for more now."

Gene laughs and I do too, and we go to sit down with the others.

When we do, George hands me a bottle with a wink. "Saved this one just for you."

I try to frown but my laugh gives me away. "That's only because it's small!" I insist.

He grins. "Yeah, just like you."

I scoff. "You're one to bloody talk!"

Word spreads around the group relatively fast that we're moving to Austria in the morning, somewhere named Zell am See. I can't say I'll be sad to leave Germany behind, but Berchtesgaden does have some quite nice memories I'll be able to think back on fondly. Still, leaving Germany is something I'm rather looking forward to, and Austria is beautiful, so I'm excited. I really, truly never thought I'd ever leave Germany so the thought of going to Austria tomorrow means that my smile never falters.

All of us sit on the side of the road, talking and laughing and drinking, for hours before we all move to one of the houses being used by a group of the men. I'm not sure who, in the chaos of everything, but it doesn't really matter either way. In any case, it looks almost identical to the one I'm staying in, as is the nature of cookie-cutter houses.

I end up sitting on the sofa squished between George and Malarkey, who are both trying to sing two different songs and are shouting over each other in a sort of fight for musical dominance. I shrink back against the sofa cushions, laughing at them but also squinting and flinching at their noise.

If I wasn't as tipsy (read: drunk) as I am then I'd tell them to shut up but in my state all I want to do is sit and laugh and take everything in. After a particularly loud chorus from both duelling parties, however, my direct route out comes in the form of a hand extended to help me up and the hand belongs, of course, to Gene.

When I'm standing with him I shoot him a look which demonstrates the magnitude of my relief, which makes him laugh. As he starts to lead me away I send a grin back to George and Malark. "No one wins. You're both awful." I giggle riotously when their passionate complaints follow me in my retreat.

When Gene and I end up standing beside the doorway that leads to the kitchen I look up at him and find him bathed in artificial light, looking for all the world like some sort of angel. I'm overcome with a desire to be near him, so I wrap my arms around his neck and smile brightly when he wraps his around my waist.

Drunk Gene is a lot more confident than sober Gene, so I hope he's a lot bolder, too. Feeling like taking the risk, I get up on my tiptoes and try my luck. "Gene?" I ask.

He's gazing down at me with a certain softness in his eyes that makes me feel all warm. His cheeks are slightly flushed, the effects of the alcohol, and I figure mine are probably much the same. "Chérie," he replies simply.

I smile and lean closer to him. "Will you give me a kiss?"

He chuckles to himself but, much to my surprise, he does, even though the rooms we're standing between are very much full.

When he pulls back I smile at him again - which I can't seem to help doing these days - and tell him, "Happy VE-Day."

He smiles back at me and replies, "Happy VE-Day, ma chérie."

" _Ta_ chérie?" I ask teasingly.

He kisses me quickly once more. "Oui. Ma chérie, ma bichette, mon ange, mon amour."

My sweetheart, my doe, my angel, my love. My love. _My love._ "You love me?"

He smiles so gently at me I feel as though if he wasn't holding me I'd have collapsed. He replies without missing a beat. "You know I do."

And maybe, actually, he's right. Maybe I've known for a while. Though that doesn't stop the feeling of overwhelming warmth that fills me from head to toe at hearing him say it.

"Mon amour," I repeat, smiling at him in a way that shows him all of my infatuation, all of my affection, and, above all, all of my love. "That's my favourite."

"Mon amour," he echoes back to me, wearing that soft, gentle smile I could stare at forever. "Je t'aime."

I hold him impossibly closer and tell him, "Je t'aime," because, simply, it's true. I do. Love him, that is. And I may be intoxicated but in the morning it'll still be true, just like it was true yesterday, and the day before that, and back, and back, and back. I don't know entirely when it happened, but I know for certain that at some point I looked at him and just knew he'd thoroughly stolen my heart. That's okay, though, because I know he'll take care of it.

Suddenly, however, the trance is broken, and Malark draws my attention away by tapping my arm and declaring, "Alright, break it up, break it up! I'm gonna beat you in a drinking game, Jules, fair and square."

"Don, are we really doing this again?" I ask. I turn to face him, exasperated, and laugh at his affronted expression.

"Yes, we're doing this again," he replies, face scrunching up in his drunken insistence. "Now come on, no teams this time, it's just you and me."

"Why do you have a personal vendetta against me?!" I cry, laughing at him all the while. "Tom beat you too!"

"What, are you scared you can't beat me without him?" he taunts. God, he knows how to push my buttons. I can't help but crack after that.

"Fine! And I'll beat you fair and square and you can stop going on about it!" I turn back to Gene and kiss him on the cheek before turning and following Malark.

"Or I'll beat _you_ fair and square and we can leave this all behind us," he retorts. He leads me over to the coffee table in the dining room and hands me a cup filled with God knows what.

Tom comes over to me and places both hands on my shoulders. "Jules," he says with all the seriousness he can muster, "you've got this. Head back, open the throat, only breathe through the nose when necessary."

I nod, also serious. "I know. You taught me well."

He presses a quick kiss to my forehead and levels me with his eyes once more. "Do me proud."

So, to put it simply, I do. I down all of the liquid in the glass in one - some local beer, I decide - without even needing to take a breath. When I slam the glass back down on the table Malark still has about two fingers' worth to go but the cheering makes him yield.

"Are you kidding me?!" he exclaims.

I don't reply and instead laugh loudly as Tom hugs me so enthusiastically he picks me up in the process.

"Fair and square, Don," I say, laughing all the while. "Agreed?"

He looks incredibly bitter, but after a moment a smile gives him away, and he nods. "Agreed."

"Hey, congratulations," George bids me, seeming to appear out of thin air with his usual grin planted firmly in place. "We found a radio. May I have this dance?"

I hadn't even notice the music playing but now that I'm listening for it I can hear it loud and clear. I giggle at George and take his outstretched hand.

"Are you a good dancer, George, or should I lead?" I tease as he leads me over to a patch of empty floor.

He shoots me a look that has me laughing and rolls his eyes. "I'll have you know I'm the _best_ dancer, thank you very much. Hope you're ready 'cause this is gonna be the best dance of your life."

I make to reply but already he's spinning me in what might not be the best dance of my life, exactly, but certainly the most energetic. He gets points for enthusiasm, at least, which is nothing less than I'd expect from George Luz, who I have come to adore so dearly.

At the end of it we're both in hysterics, unable to stop giggling even as he bows to me and I curtsey.

"Verdict?" he manages to choke out between sputtering giggles.

I laugh and draw him into a hug, exclaiming, "Best ever!" even though it's a lie because, actually, some lies can be okay. And even if that philosophy is actually a lie in and of itself, his beaming smile that I get in reply is worth it. Either way, I can't find it in myself to feel guilty, which is a long way of improvement from where I started. Maybe I'm doing a better job of moving forwards than I think.


	40. And Never a Saint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Alone, alone, all, all alone,  
> Alone on a wide wide sea!  
> And never a saint took pity on  
> My soul in agony."  
> \- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The majority of the journey to Austria is spent in silence. For the most part I think a lot of people are nursing some rather rotten hangovers but I think some of the men are also contemplating what's next for them now that the war's over. More specifically, whether or not they'll be sent to fight the war in the Pacific. The thought makes my stomach turn, not because I'm worried I'll be sent there - I'm almost certain my part in all of this is done now - but because they could be. Gene could be. And if something happened I don't know if I could take it.

I look down instinctively to check the time on my watch before realising I don't have one anymore. Instead all I'm met with is the prominent scarring from where I was once tied up by my wrists. I wonder whether the scarring will ever disappear or whether it'll always be obvious I was imprisoned.

Tentatively, I graze my fingers along the scar, tracing the circumference of my left wrist. It doesn't hurt - not physically, anyway, but I've come to realise that I have good days and bad days where moving forwards from my days in interrogation is concerned. I've had a few good days so it seems I'm due a few bad ones. The memories like to remind me that they're still there and still very much visceral after a period of contentedness.

For my part, my hangover isn't too bad - Gene's influence, naturally. But instead of my head aching, it's my heart. I said to Tom I'd be alright to go in a separate truck to him and the others but maybe I was too hasty with that decision.

But then again I'll need to start becoming independent again soon. I won't always have them there. The thought makes me infinitely sadder but it's true; now that the war in Europe is over our days together are numbered.

Instinctively, I turn to seek any of them out on the truck behind and then the truck in front of the one I'm in. I find Will, fast asleep on the one behind, which calms me slightly, but the others aren't in sight. I slump back in my seat, trying to breathe deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Martin taught me. I don't know why I feel so trapped all of a sudden. 

I'm also starting to feel quite hot - too hot - so I undo the first few buttons on my ODs and pull one side down so it's hanging off of my shoulder. Feeling the breeze on the exposed skin there, where I'm only wearing a small undershirt underneath, brings instant relief. I feel my shoulders relax slightly.

"How'd you get those?"

The voice makes me jolt in place and I look up to find Babe watching me curiously. He must see from my face that I don't understand what he means for he gestures, somewhat gingerly, to where my ODs have now exposed my collarbone.

"I mean the scars," he explains. He sounds somewhat guilty. I get the impression he didn't really mean to ask, or that he asked without thinking, but there's no way to take it back now. I see him open his mouth, likely to say I don't have to answer, but I cut him off.

"Soldering iron," I answer quietly. Maybe talking about it to someone I don't know all that well might help. Maybe. I'm not sure. Worth a try.

"Really?" he asks, eyebrows crashing down instead of hopping up as I'd expected.

I nod and subconsciously run my fingers along the three thin, parallel scars that crawl across my collar bone, reaching for my left shoulder.

"Was that the worst?" Babe questions tentatively.

I let my hand drop lazily back into my lap. "No," I reply, "but it was up there."

"Yeah?"

"Some of the most excruciating pain I've ever felt," I explain, nodding. "They only did it once though. I think they were wary of wasting electricity on prisoners."

He nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek contemplatively for a moment. Eventually, he asks, "What was it like? Being captured?"

"What was it like being captured or what was it like being a prisoner?" I wonder.

He shrugs, watching me with interest. "Both."

I suck in a breath and fiddle with my hands in my lap. "Being captured was the scariest moment of my life. I was caught trying to break someone else out - that's a bit of inside information no one outside of the team knows." I send him a wink which makes him chuckle a bit. "I was stealing information on where they were transporting prisoners. We were going to use it to break someone out once we got to Berlin.

"The problem was that the Germans had managed to capture basically every Allied spy operating in Holland," I continue, "so they sent a message to our HQ from each separate spy asking for supplies and reinforcements. Thus, we were sent to Holland with you lot."

"It was trap?" he asks, leaning forwards to hear me better.

I nod. "Yeah. Double agents. I was in the intelligence office, had just stolen the information we needed, when a guard came in behind me. When I was about to kill him three more came through the door. They'd been expecting me, there was no way to lie my way out of it."

"So what happened next?"

"They dragged me out. I put up a hell of a fight. I was kicking and screaming - I bit one of them." This makes him grin; being from Philly, I think he fights dirty, too. "I managed to get out of their grip long enough to get my cyanide, which is how we bail out in case of capture, but they took it from me. So they dragged me away and I got taken to Berlin along with the very person I was supposed to rescue."

I don't mention Tom, or how he'd had the shot and chosen not to take it. That's a personal memory, for both me and him, and besides, I don't know if I could verbalise it without crying. And I don't want to cry; I've been doing so well recently.

"What was it like once you got there?"

I shrug. "They spend the first few weeks trying to work out what gets to you the most. They try all sorts of tactics, both physical and psychological, to see which ones break you. At that point they're not really asking questions, they're just kind of messing around. In some sick way I think that's their favourite part. I also think they know that the anticipation right at the beginning is one of the most sickening things they can do to you. Waiting on that first interrogation -" I have to cut myself off on account of the physical shiver the memory wreaks and the fact that my voice very literally has decided to stop me right there. It's too painful a memory. "Then after that are the interrogations, and they use whichever methods break you down the most to get you to talk."

Babe nods. I know he wants to ask me whether I talked but I'm glad that he decides against it. He doesn't ask me anything else about my time in Berlin, and I'm grateful, because it gives me time to reflect. But I think speaking about it to someone who didn't have an overly emotional reaction as a result (understandably, because Babe and I aren't all that close) actually did help. At the very least, I don't feel so trapped now, or so hot and bothered. I'm still a bit antsy to catch sight of someone I trust though - not that I don't trust all of the men, but I need to see one of the ones I trust entirely, body and soul. I need to see Tom or Will or Martin, or Gene or George or Floyd.

Will's still sleeping when my eyes land on him again and I let out a quiet sigh. But I manage to catch sight of George sitting with Joe, smoking and laughing about something. He doesn't see me but that's okay because just catching sight of him in the truck in front of this one makes me feel a little bit better.

I try to focus my attention on the passing scenery as we make our way out of Germany. I think, above all, that makes me nervous too; not getting out of Germany but the fact that I'm not yet out of it. Even though the war's over there's a sense of intense foreboding associated with Germany for me now and I really want to get as far away from Berlin as I can.

If I'm blatantly honest I don't know how I've made it this far. I don't know how I've kept going. After everything the war has thrown at me, I have no idea. Leaving home at sixteen to become a code-breaker, getting seconded to the SOE and giving them permission to tell my family I'm dead, making my first jump behind enemy lines at seventeen, having to watch my first boyfriend publicly hanged at eighteen. Being captured at twenty-two. It's been a long war. I haven't seen home or my parents since I was sixteen. I'm twenty-three now. God, it's been a long war. I have no idea how I've kept on going. I suppose I just had to. There's no other option but to keep on going, so I do.

I'm lost deep in thought when shouts of anguish and the slamming open of doors has me jolting in place. All of a sudden my heart is racing, as it always does when someone shouts too loud or a door slams, but with both things combined it's in overdrive. I turn hastily in my seat to find two French soldiers pushing three Germans out of a derelict building and throwing them to the floor. The three Germans end up on their knees with their hands on the backs of their heads. Witnessing it shakes something up inside of me because how many times have I been thrown into that position, a gun held to my head just like one is aimed at theirs?

A single gunshot rings out and I audibly gasp, a hand pressing down hard on my heart. Two quickly follow and then all three Germans are dead on the floor, blood pooling around their heads and seeping into the dirt.

I can't look away. Even as we drive past and I have to turn my head to look back at them, it's like my eyes are glued there.

A hand on my knee makes me jump and I sharply turn to face forwards again. The hand belongs to Babe and his eyebrows are furrowed but he tries to offer a reassuring smile. I try my best to smile back but I know it falls flat when his drops. When I make to look back at the dead German soldiers again, my heart still pounding so hard I wonder whether he can hear it, Babe draws my attention back to him by saying softly, "Hey, just look at me, alright? You don't need to look at that."

I remain facing Babe for the rest of the journey. Even when we finally pass into Austria and the boys are trying to flirt with the Austrian girls on the side of the road, I keep my eyes set firmly forwards, afraid of what I might see otherwise. I hate that I'm like this now. That I'm so feeble and delicate and afraid that I can't even bear to see something like that happen when I used to be the person doing things like that.

It's then I understand that there's a part of me that's broken. Irreparably broken. Completely shattered. I have good days and I have bad days but through everything there's something broken in me and I can't repair it and that makes me want to cry. But I can't cry right now because I'm in a troop truck with a group of men who wouldn't, couldn't, never will understand. And the people I truly trust are too far away and now everything feels much too close and much too far all at once.

I keep going because I have to but it's so hard sometimes. _It's so hard sometimes._

I spend the rest of the journey desperately fighting back tears. I know Babe can tell, because I can see him watching me with sympathy clear in his eyes, but I have to focus all of my energy and concentration on making sure I don't break down. Leaving Germany was supposed to heal me, I was counting on it, but now we're in Austria I feel like all I've gotten is the startling and sobering realisation that I am, and will forever be, broken.

When we finally stop I'm out of the truck as quickly as I can manage. I immediately push my way through the crowd of lingering soldiers and let out a huge exhalation of relief when I find Will. When he sees me, his smile drops.

"Jules?"

"Where's Tom?" I ask. My voice comes out sounding so desperate and pathetic it only makes me feel worse.

"I don't - I don't know," he stutters out, looking around frantically whilst grabbing onto my arm to pull me closer to him. "What's wrong?" His eyes shoot back to me and scan me over for potential injury but all I can muster is a shake of my head.

"Jules!" I hear Tom shout from behind me. When I turn he's all smiles but his enthusiasm fades in a second. "Hey, what's the matter?"

As soon as he's close enough he draws me into a tight hug and I hate it so much but I start to cry. 

Distantly, I hear him talking to Will, trying to work out what's bothering me whilst I cling to him and weep. I'm not really listening to what they're saying until I hear Babe's voice enter the conversation.

"It was the Germans," he explains to them, and I'm sure he's watching me warily, "the ones they killed on the side of the road."

I hear Tom sigh and start muttering, "I shouldn't have left her alone. I shouldn't have let her go alone," all the while he's got a hand cradling the back of my head and the other one hugging me tightly. I hate that he's blaming himself for this but I don't have the words to tell him otherwise, or, seemingly, the ability to stop crying. And I hate that I can't even be left to sit in a troop truck by myself without breaking down. I fucking hate it all. I hate the Nazis for doing this to me and I hate that I can't get over it.

I try desperately to get myself under control but the tears I've been holding in for the past forty-five minutes seem to want to all come out first. Tom must hear my breathing pick up in my haste to calm down because he pulls out of the hug and holds me at arms length by my shoulders. He ducks his head until he can look me in the eyes. "Jules, breathe. Deep breaths, okay? You have to breathe."

I try my best to follow his guidance, in and out and in and out, but the problem is that I'm trying so desperately to make myself calm down that I'm only making it worse.

Tom diverts his eyes to something behind me and then I feel a gentle hand on the small of my back. "Chérie?" _Gene._

I turn and jump into his arms. He's always the best at calming me down. His arms wrap around me immediately and when I bury my face in the crook of his neck he says, "Hey, hey, hey. What's wrong, mon amour?"

Mon amour. I still love that so much.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" he tries again, speaking quietly into my hair.

"Je..." I begin, then pause for breath and words. "Je pensais à... ce qu'ils faisaient."

"Qui?" he asks.

I sniffle a bit as I breathe in a sharp breath to try to explain. "Le gestapo. Quand les soldats français..."

He holds me a little bit tighter so I think he understands. "Tu vas bien," he says softly. "Tu es en sécurité. Tu ne vas nulle part." He repeats the words as many times as I need to hear them before I'm finally breathing normally again. When he pulls back just slightly to check on me I'm not crying anymore.

"Je suis désolée," I whisper, feeling every bit a burden for needing him as I do. "I'm sorry."

"You got nothin' to be sorry for, alright?" he says gently, wiping away the remnants of my tears. "Nothin'."

"I hate to break this up but, Gene, I think you're wanted elsewhere," Tom interjects, and he really does look apologetic.

Gene looks down at me one last time and I nod. I try to muster my biggest smile for him, which makes him smile softly back, and then he jogs away to where someone's calling for him.

When I turn back to the others I find Tom watching me with concern but once he sees me looking back at him he smiles a tiny bit. "He's got some kind of superpower in calming you down," he says, which, in spite of everything, makes me smile.

"Yeah," I reply, laughing a little bit. Because, really, he does.


	41. When You Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing." - Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Getting everyone assigned somewhere to stay takes (understandably) an awfully long time, so whilst we're waiting to receive our billeting I take the time to look around at our new temporary home. Zell am See is, to put it simply, draw-droppingly gorgeous. Everything seems to shine with a certain vibrancy the rest of Europe has lost during its time in the war; I don't believe I've ever seen a bluer sky or greener grass.

Mountains rise up over the town in every direction and they're breathtaking. They're tall and snow-capped, and I can't help but wonder what this quaint little Austrian town looks like at Christmas.

Christmas. I wonder how I'll be spending Christmas now that the war in Europe's over. I haven't spent a Christmas in England since 1937. My God, it's been a long war.

Tom, Martin, Will, and I take a short stroll to explore the town a little bit - really, we want to find the lake but familiarising ourselves immediately with a new place is a habit of spies and old habits die hard.

Zell am See, in a direct contrast to Berchtesgaden, is full of locals and bustling with activity. The Austrian people seem more than happy to welcome us in and we greet them in polite German whenever we come across them.

We don't actually end up making it to the lake, for Tom makes us all circle back around before we can get too far to ensure we don't miss our billeting and risk handing it over to another group of soldiers. When we get back to the main area we only have to wait a further five minutes before we're assigned rooms in a nearby hotel; the main hotel has been reserved for the officers, predictably, but we're two to a room in the next nearest one and that's certainly good enough for me.

Entering a hotel room which is actually still in use is some sort of uncharted bliss. The beds are freshly made, the sheets clean, the curtains pulled, and there are fresh towels in the bathroom. Tom beats me to the shower but I don't mind so much, content to get first pick of the beds. I choose the one nearest the window, so I can lay down and see the mountains at the same time, and the mattress is so soft and bouncy I'm already half-asleep by the time Tom emerges from the bathroom.

"Shower's all yours," he announces with a grin. "I've been charitable in giving it up for you - I could've stayed in there forever."

I laugh and slip my boots off before heading in. I'm hit immediately in the face by the steam and humidity still coming off of the shower, but I don't mind all that much.

When I step under the water I understand what Tom meant because it really is heaven. The water is a fast and constant stream and it's so warm I could honestly live under it. And they have proper shampoo and conditioner, brand new unlike the dregs we had to make do with in Berchtesgaden. Needless to say, I end up spending much longer than I initially intended in the there.

When I emerge, wrapped in the fluffy white dressing gown I found under the sink, I shoot Tom a smile, still wringing my hair out.

"Incredible, isn't it?" he asks with a grin.

I laugh and nod. "I think Austria's my favourite place we've been yet."

"Beats Paris," he replies easily.

"God, doesn't everywhere?" I joke back and come to sit on my bed.

"We'll never have to do another mission in Paris," Tom comments mindlessly once I've sat down. When I look to him he's staring up at the ceiling, a lazy smile on his face. "With any luck we'll never have to do another mission again at all."

"It's all ending," I agree quietly, feeling the full brunt of that bittersweet realisation. I can't even begin to express my joy and relief that the war in Europe's over but the thought that I soon won't be seeing my boys everyday also makes me inexpressibly sad. "What do you think you'll do? After?" I ask after a moment's hesitation.

Tom turns his head to look at me from where he's laying down. "Honestly? I'm not sure. Go back to England, look up my parents and hope they're still alive." He pauses and then laughs a bit bitterly to himself. "God, how are we even supposed to explain all this? Everything that's happened? They think we've been dead for - what? Six years now? And we're supposed to just waltz back in and say, 'Hi, mum and dad! Guess what? I'm alive and I've been a spy, sorry I missed the past six Christmases!'?"

I sigh and lay back on the bed as well, not caring that my hair will get the pillow wet. It'll likely dry before I need to use it anyway.

"I don't know how I'll even begin to explain everything to my parents," I confess quietly, chewing on my bottom lip as I gaze up at the ceiling too. "That I've killed people, and watched my friends be killed. That I've lied, and stolen, and manipulated. That I got caught." That I was tortured.

"All that training," Tom comments with a rueful smile, "and they never taught us how to deal with surviving."

I don't think he even realises how true that statement is.

After a few moments' silence I admit, "I don't know how I'll say goodbye to you."

I hear Tom laugh lightly and when I look over at him he's already staring back at me. "We've been through it all together," he says, smiling.

I can't help but smile back. "If we went back to Bletchley to see our former selves, first day of code-breaking, and told those two innocent kids where they'd end up, what do you think they'd say?"

"'Piss off', probably," Tom answers matter-of-factly.

I can't help giggling. "You might have but sixteen-year-old me didn't have such a gutter mouth."

Tom gives an exaggerated whimsical sigh. "How things have changed."

A comfortable silence falls over us and I take the time to think hard. After a few minutes I sit up suddenly and when Tom notices he does the same, facing me on the edge of his bed where I sit cross-legged on mine. "Tom," I begin seriously, "promise me that whenever we say goodbye it won't be forever. That we'll always be part of each other's lives."

Tom smiles, a genuine smile, and reaches out his pinkie to me. "I promise." So I link my own pinkie with his and give him a smile too. "You're stuck with me forever, Jules," he says, which makes me laugh once more.

We both lay back down again and I smile up at the ceiling. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

A little while later we tire of idle chatter and decide to finally go and find Lake Zell. We quickly knock on Martin and Will's door across the hall and make them come with us, and soon the four of us are trekking back through the town in search of the famous body of water.

When we find it we also find a lot of the Easy Company boys either already in the water or lounging on the shore. Tom and Will share one look before both shouting, "Race ya!" and with that they're running towards the water and stripping off their ODs at the same time, not a care in the world.

Martin and I watch them and laugh, and I can't help but grin as I watch Tom splash Will. Will, of course, splashes him back vigorously, which makes me giggle.

Martin and I settle ourselves down a little ways away from the water. I remove my boots and ODs, using the ODs as a blanket of sorts, until I'm sitting stretched out under the sun in my undershirt and a pair of shorts I was given under the impression they were once 'PT gear'. Regardless, they do their intended job, which is allowing me to lay in the sun without roasting to death in a military uniform.

"How'd you like the shower?" Martin asks, stretching out beside me. I can hear the grin in his voice.

"Oh, adored it," I reply, chuckling, "I'm going straight back in when we get back."

Martin nods, pretending to be philosophical, "One too many safe houses will do that to a person."

"How'd you like it?"

He snorts. "Would've liked it better if I didn't have that little git banging on the door every five seconds saying he needed the toilet."

I can't help but burst out laughing because that is _such_ a Will thing to do and the bite to Martin's words just makes it better. Even when my laughter dies out I'm giggling to myself for about five minutes and when I glance over at Martin I see him still grinning to himself, too.

After another five minutes pass in mindless chatter a shadow blocks my sunlight and I peak open an eye at the very last minute before Tom scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder, laughing maniacally.

"Tom!" I exclaim, banging lightly on his back as he runs towards the water. "Tom, don't! Don't! Thomas!"

Will and some of the other yanks who are already in the water cheer him on and before I know what's hit me I'm thrown into freezing cold water.

"Thomas!" I shout as soon as I resurface, pushing my hair out of my face and splashing as much water at him as I can manage. "You're such a sod!"

Tom laughs and splashes me back. "Love you too, Jules!"

I send him a half-hearted scowl and another splash. "I hate everything about you."

He only laughs. "Yeah, sure you do."

We all spend a while messing about in the water, splashing each other and laughing and having swimming races. At one point I end up being roped into judging a hold-your-breath contest between George and Babe (Babe won; George couldn't stop laughing underwater). At another point I even find myself on Tom's shoulders where Will is on Martin's, the pair of us trying to knock each other off. Will ends up winning, largely because Martin has both the upper body strength and physique of a bull, but Tom and I put up a hell of a fight if I do say so myself. We end up paddling around and talking about trivial things, listening to the various shouts and splashes the yanks make.

I look over to the bank after Spina jumps into the water and find Gene, looking very deep in thought. I don't know how long he's been there but the look on his face tells me he's been thinking hard on whatever it is he's thinking about for quite a while. He's staring into space, lips drawn into a frown and eyebrows furrowed. I think he's probably remembering something difficult, perhaps his time in Bastogne which Tom told me was really hard on him.

I know Gene isn't a particularly verbal person - he's a man of few words most of the time - but he's always there for me when I need him, so even if he doesn't want to talk I devise to go and keep him company. Everyone who was once sitting on the bank has either gone back to their room or jumped into the water, so he does look rather lonely sitting there all by himself.

He doesn't notice me until I'm quite close but when he does he tries to smile as he watches me sit down beside him. I keep a rather sizeable distance considering I'm soaking wet but I'm close enough that I can see the lingering glaze over his eyes. He was definitely remembering.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask him quietly. I watch him for a moment before looking back out at the water, giving him time to think without any added pressure.

"They're not worth that much," he says with a rueful smile.

I can't help my frown. "Gene," I start softly, unsure how to make him feel better. He seems to have a PhD in cheering me up and I have absolutely no idea how to do the same for him, which is so awful. "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you but you know that I'm here, right?"

He nods, looking down at his lap. "Yeah... Yeah."

"If you ever want to talk - even if, or _especially_ if, it's the middle of the night - then I want to listen." God knows I struggle with memories most at night, so maybe that's the same for him. "But if you don't, not now or ever, then that's okay too."

All I can do to try to help him is think about how I deal with my own memories. I haven't told him about them and I know that right now, even though I trust him entirely, I'm not really ready for that. I only told Tom and the others in a fit of rage and I want to be able to tell him in a way that's not going to break me down, and that'll probably take a while. But I also know that sometimes I kind of just want someone there, to know that I'm not alone. I don't know if that's something he might want or need, too, but it's all I can think to try.

He's not as physically affectionate as I am so I try not to smother him. Instead, we just sit together in silence for a small while. I watch the others in the lake until I feel his eyes on me. When I look back at him he reaches for my hand, which makes me smile.

"It'll be cold," I warn him because I'm still soaking wet.

Gene merely laughs. "I don't mind."

We carry on in silence for a while, but when I look back up to check on him he's not frowning anymore. Instead, he wears the tiniest of smiles as he watches everyone in the water. As I see the glint dancing in his eyes I think that if I know him half as well as I think I do then I know what'll cheer him up.

I get up on my knees and face him, still holding onto his hand, and watch with a grin as he quirks an eyebrow at me. "Will you come in the water with me?" I ask.

When he chuckles a bit to himself I continue, "We'll stay close to the edge. Promise."

"I'm not scared of water," he tells me with a bit of a bigger smile. "Just drownin'."

"Of losing control?" I guess. He nods. "Well, we'll stay close enough to the edge that you can still touch the floor. It's warmer once you're in there than it is out here."

He doesn't need much more convincing and I clap my hands together excitedly when he starts to unlace his jump boots. Gene laughs and once he's out of his ODs I hold out my hand to him again, which he takes without a second thought.

"Do you trust me?" I ask with a coy smile, walking backwards towards the lake with him.

He laughs and rolls his eyes, which makes me grin. I turn and lead him into the water, making sure I can still touch the floor because if I can then he definitely can, on account of he's a lot taller than me. When I decide we're deep enough that we won't get cold, but shallow enough that he can still feel safe, I turn to face him with a smile.

"Here?" I ask.

He smiles. "Here's good."

"Hey! Gene!" Spina calls enthusiastically. "Get over here!"

"He's staying here with me!" I call back, so Spina flashes me his middle finger.

Gene laughs and I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling that familiar warmth as he wraps his around my waist. I'm glad to see him smiling again. It's my favourite look on him.

"You're so handsome," I tell him, and giggle when he flushes. Just to make him laugh, I croon, "You're the most handsome man in all of the world!"

"God damn," he mutters quietly, but I get the desired reaction. He's blushing furiously but he's also laughing, and he has a most beautiful laugh.

"There's that smile!" I cheer and laugh when he shakes his head. I'm content to just watch him laugh for a few moments, and then, eventually, I say, "Thank you for earlier, by the way. I don't really know what happened."

"You don't gotta thank me," Gene replies, watching me closely all of a sudden.

I shrug. "Well, I want to. You were there when I needed you and in my book that deserves thanks. So thank you. Again."

"Jules! Come here!" Will shouts at me

I let out a small huff. "William, I'm staying over here!"

"You can go," Gene says with an amused smile.

I shake my head. "I spend all day with them. I want to stay here with you."

"Jules!"

"Oh my God, Will!" I exclaim in exasperation, but when I turn to face him I'm laughing. "What is it?"

He's swum over to us and as he stands there he's grinning. "Do you remember that time when -"

"Oh no."

"- you and Tom had to pretend you were married -" he has to wheeze in his fight for breath between his laughter, "and when he kissed you you actually threw up." By the time he's reached the end of the sentence he's only barely getting the words out through his laughs and I'm just about dying of embarrassment.

"I'll now be promptly knocking myself unconscious," I announce to no one in particular and submerge myself underwater to the sound of the pair of them giggling like schoolboys.

Once I resurface I smooth my hair back and make a show of pouting at them to garner some sympathy. "I had food poisoning," I claim, but neither of them seem to care for the logistics. Either way, one look at Will only makes me start laughing. "I really can't believe you've betrayed me like this, Will."

"If you'd have come over when I called you I wouldn't have said it in front of Gene, so that's your own fault."

"You're such a menace," I say and scruff up his wet hair.

He shoots me a big, toothy grin that has me laughing again, and I spend the rest of the day much the same way; laughing with the people I love the most.


	42. Where You Want to Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I think that one of these days,' he said, 'you're going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you've got to start going there. But immediately. You can't afford to lose a minute. Not you." - J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

The blissful somewhat-civilian life we've discovered for ourselves in Austria seems to have come to an abrupt end. Will's daily contact with HQ has gotten us a bit more information than the usual 'sit tight, information to come' today. I know because he came bursting through the door to Tom and I's room and bid me come to help him with it.

The message I end up transcribing based on what we receive makes my heart drop. _'Possible extraction. M2-29. Await orders.'_

M2-29. The twenty-ninth of May. That's tomorrow. We could be sent back out again. _Tomorrow._

Martin's the first person to respond after I've read the message aloud. "'Await orders'? They're saying the extraction would be _tomorrow_. How long are they going to leave us in the dark?"

"We were supposed to be finished with this," Tom mutters, rubbing at his eyes. "The bloody war's over."

"Are they just going to make us be spies forever?" I ask with a short, bitter laugh. "Is that what this is? Have we unknowingly signed our souls away and this is just it for us now?"

"They never actually said it was just for wartime," Will mumbles, face blank. "Not to me, anyway."

"Nor me," Martin adds with a grimace.

Tom and I share a look. "Not to us, either," he finally says. "We just kind of assumed..."

If this is what the rest of my life is going to look like I don't know how I'll handle it. I don't know if I've got anything left in me to give. I just feel utterly exhausted. There's no other word for it.

"When are they likely to update us?" Tom asks, eyes darting between Will and I.

Will and I share a look, and then a shrug. "Standard procedure is to transmit either in the early morning or late at night. The fact that this has come mid-morning could mean it's an emergency or..." I sigh, shrugging once more. "I don't know."

Will nods. "I've been contacting them at 0515 hours every morning since being here. They didn't say anything earlier so I think it being an emergency is the most likely explanation. That means we could get updates at any time." His eyes dart between the three of us before landing on me, looking just as tired as I feel. "Jules and I will have to sit by the radio and wait."

So we do.

The transmission initially came in at 1012 and by the time lunch rolls around we've still heard nothing. Will takes the radio along with us down to the hotel's restaurant where we tend to eat during the day, and I take along a pencil and paper in order to scribe whatever we receive. And still, nothing.

Due to the fact we're expecting orders at any given moment we have to steer clear of everyone else. Tom and Martin have the luxury of leaving the hotel room we've set ourselves up in every now and then for a break; unfortunately for us, Will and I don't.

When Tom announces he's leaving to stretch his legs for a bit, I gently take ahold of his wrist. When he looks down at me where I'm sat on Will's bed I ask him quietly, "If you see Gene will you tell him what's going on? If we do have to go I don't want to just disappear."

Tom nods and squeezes my shoulder with his other hand. "Yeah. Yeah, of course, I'll tell him." He shoots me a small smile which I try to return and then Will and I are left in silence, the only sounds being Tom's retreating footsteps and the water running from Martin's shower.

After a short while Will turns to look at me. His lips are pulled into a frown and his eyebrows are furrowed. His left hand is tapping vigorously on the casing of the radio, though I don't think he's aware of it. "Do you think they'd send us back afterwards? To Austria, I mean?"

I sigh and shake my head, chewing on my bottom lip momentarily. "I don't know."

He nods but doesn't turn back around. We just watch each other for a moment but when I see his bottom lip tremble I pull him into a hug.

"It'll be okay, Will," I whisper, trying to hold back tears as he holds onto me tightly. "It'll all work itself out."

"How do you know?" he whispers back, his voice thick with tears.

The real answer is I don't, but instead I say, "Because it always does."

When Martin emerges from the bathroom he asks immediately, "Anything?" to which Will and I both shake our heads. It's more than a little bit frustrating to have no idea what's going on but part of me dreads to find out what's in store for us. I haven't admitted it, though I'm sure the others can all tell, but I'm deathly afraid of going back out into the field. I think I've lost all my nerve. Being caught and everything that came with it... I couldn't do that again. Oh, God, just thinking about it makes me want to be sick. I don't even know what I'd do. I don't know at all.

Tom returns a little while later and he sends me a nod to let me know he's spoken to Gene. I send him a smile of thanks back and then we all resume our staring at the radio. We've been at it for hours but there's little more to do than just wait. The anticipation has us all on edge.

Eventually, the sound of radio static makes us all spring into action. Will transmits and I receive and after I've translated the morse code into English I pass the piece of paper directly to Tom. I can't even look at it myself.

We all watch him and not a single breath is breathed between us. Everything goes entirely still. I'm certain even the shower stops its dripping.

Tom looks up and reads exactly what's written, "'False alarm. Sit tight, information to come.'"

All of us let out a collective sigh of relief.

Once we're all settled once more Tom finally speaks up again, "Even though we're safe this time, you know this means we're not discharged. We could still be sent out at any minute."

A horrible realisation. We can't even enjoy the end of the war.

Martin laughs bitterly. "Haven't we done enough? We've only been operating since fucking 1939. Jesus Christ."

All of us share in his sentiments but no one replies.

Tom and I cross the hallway back to our room a short while later and we don't speak as we take turns in the shower, him first and me second, our unspoken system. When I emerge again there's a package on my bed, identical to the one that sits opened at the foot of his.

Tom sends me a small, sad smile. "The SOE send their regards. They told Will over the radio where to find them." He inclines his head towards the package on my bed. "Clothes and equipment for when we get sent out again. I suppose even though today was a false alarm they need to have us ready to go at a moment's notice."

I sigh and place the package on the desk in the middle of the north wall, unwilling to look for the moment. I don't want to deal with that right now.

Tom and I merely gaze at each other, no false smiles or words of encouragement. We just see each other as we are, eyes glazed over with an exhaustion that's plagued us for far too long and lips drawn into thin lines. A knock at the door draws us out of our silent conversation, and when Tom flops back down on the bed I roll my eyes. Apparently, even though I'm in my dressing gown, I'm taking this one.

"It's probably Will," Tom comments, voice muffled by the pillow he's buried his face into.

I laugh a little bit. "Will, if you've run out of toilet paper again you can bugger off," I say, loud enough for him to hear through the door, but when I pull it open I find Gene. "Oh. Sorry." I send him a sheepish smile but he only laughs a little bit.

Without waiting for him to ask, I explain, "It was a false alarm earlier. We're not being sent back out again yet. This just means we haven't actually been discharged, so we could be sent out at any time."

Gene watches me closely, and sadly, and I overwhelmingly just want to be close to him. But the fact that he's sought me out to check on me makes me feel better.

"You alright?" he asks quietly.

I nod and try for a smile. "I'm a tad worried I'll get a bollocking for cutting my hair, if I'm honest."

Gene laughs but he sees right through me, so he pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in the crook of his neck immediately, my own personal safe haven, and breathe in his scent. For now I'm here and I'm here indefinitely so for the moment, at least, I can calm down.

"I'm afraid of being caught again," I mumble after a few moments. "My three fears are back on the list."

Before he can reply Tom emerges from the open door behind me and he turns to walk backwards down the hallway. "Getting tea. Do you want anything?"

I have to suppress a smile. I know exactly what he's doing and I love him for it.

"No thank you," I reply, and then I actually can't stop the smile. But as he's retreating I call after him, "Oh! Actually, we do need more water!"

He turns back around and sends me a wink with a mock salute, "Gotcha," and then disappears from sight.

I take Gene's hand and lead him into the hotel room, and I sit on my bed as I watch him close the door softly behind him. As he approaches me he turns a curious eye on the package on the desk. I shrug. "Undercover equipment, clothes, et cetera."

"Anythin' good?" he wonders.

I laugh a little bit. "Haven't looked yet."

Gene smiles to himself and picks up the package before bringing it over and sitting beside me on the bed. He sets it down between us and looks at me expectantly, so I sigh out a laugh and open it.

It bears the expected: a gun with an attached silencer, a knife and corresponding thigh sheath, a lock-pick in the form of a hair pin, identity papers, and a brand new cyanide necklace. Lucky me. At the bottom, however, is the good stuff: a dress, a hairbrush, a brand new red lipstick, mascara, powder, simple black kitten heels, and an unassuming handbag to put everything in.

It's the dress I'm interested in and I put all of the other stuff aside to pull it into my lap. I run my fingers over the delicate material, a pretty pale blue with tiny white birds patterned on it, in some kind of daze, but look up when I see Gene pick up the necklace in my periphery.

"I haven't seen you wear this since..."

I nod. "That's a cyanide necklace." He drops it as though it's burnt him, and I can't help but laugh a little bit. "We all have them, though the boys have it sewn into their buttons too. I lost my last one." I smile ruefully. "Considerate of them to send me a new one."

"When you got caught," he begins carefully, still looking at the necklace, "did you try..?"

"Yeah," I respond, a quiet confession, and it's only then he meets my eyes. "I tried to take it and they took it from me. Tom was going to shoot me but..." I can't bring myself to say any more.

Gene doesn't say anything for a while, he only gazes back at me, until he reaches for the dress in my lap and picks it up. "Will you show me?" he asks, holding it out to me, and I can't help but smile.

I take it off of him and he hands me the shoes too, but I make a face. "These don't match." He just laughs and shoos me away, so I go into the bathroom to change.

After I've put it on I run the comb Tom and I keep in the bathroom through my damp hair and then try to put some life back into it. I don't feel especially pretty today but the dress, at least, is flattering - the SOE has always had a strange talent for putting me in clothes that draw out my best features. I smooth down the skirt and give myself a conspiratorial nod before leaving the bathroom, wondering why I feel so nervous all of a sudden.

When I'm back standing in front of Gene I strike a pose which makes him laugh before he stands up and takes ahold of my hand, guiding me to give him a twirl. I can't help but giggle as he does so because this feels like the young woman I thought I'd be and I have absolutely no idea how he's found her.

"What do you think?" I ask once we're standing face to face again.

He smiles softly. "Beautiful. You're always beautiful."

I laugh and feel myself blush fiercely. "But what do you think of the dress?"

He grins, a magnificent look on him. "Blue's your colour," is all he says, and for some reason it really makes me smile.

We both lean in to the kiss at the same time, which only makes me smile more, and he draws me closer by my waist until we're as close as we can get. I have absolutely no idea what I did to deserve him and, really, I know that I don't but I'm endlessly grateful that he sees something in me that makes me worth keeping around. I don't know how I ever lived without him.

I don't hear Tom come in and I don't think Gene does either because it takes him clearing his throat for us to pull apart.

When I turn around Tom's grinning. "You two have got to be the only couple who have a hotel room to themselves and end up wearing more clothes than they started with."

I roll my eyes. "If you were expecting us to be wearing less then you probably should've knocked."

"I didn't say I was expecting it. I know you too well."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering my question, he places about six bottles of water down on the desk with a wry smile. "There's your coveted water. You're welcome."

Gene sits back down on the bed and pulls me with him. When I'm sat down I look at the water and laugh. "Why so many?"

Tom smirks. "The girl down there fancies me."

"What's her name?"

"Carlotta. Spicy redhead."

I chuck a pillow at him. "For God's sake, Thomas."

Whilst Tom carries on talking about 'Carlotta' I only half-listen - I'm quite sure he's mainly talking to Gene now, anyway - and instead wrap my arms around Gene's neck and rest my forehead on his shoulder; all of the anticipation and stress of the day has caught up with me, and now I'm thoroughly exhausted.

I sit there with my eyes closed for a while, listening to the pair of them converse, before I retreat to the bathroom to get out of the dress and back into my dressing gown, which tends to be what I sleep in in the absence of pyjamas.

Tom and Gene are still talking when I come back out so I lie back on the bed this time, gazing up at the ceiling and smiling every now and then at something one of them says.

I think when I was changing Gene put all of the other stuff back in the box it came in which means I'm a lot comfier now than I would've been otherwise. He leaves a short while later with a kiss pressed to my forehead and a promise he'll see me tomorrow, which leaves me smiling to myself.

A couple of minutes after he's left, Tom comments, "He takes good care of you." A statement rather than a question.

I smile anew and nod, my eyes still shut from when Gene kissed me on the forehead. "Yeah, he does."


	43. All Good Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All good things in life are fragile and easily lost." - Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

We don't have any more false alarms for a while but the new sense of looming concern roots from the yanks and when they'll be sent to the Pacific. It's not a case of if they'll be sent anymore, simply when.

The US Army has elected to adopt a points system so that veterans who have seen what they've deemed to be 'enough combat' (i.e. have won enough medals) can go home. Gene doesn't have enough points. When he told me I think I felt my heart shatter.

Somehow we've once again found ourselves positively doomed. He's going to be sent to the Pacific and I could be sent out again to do God only knows what any day now. Every second I'm not with him I feel a lingering sense of dread that he could be ripped away from me again, so I seek him out more than usual.

Finding him in the designated medical area reminds me a little bit of Aldbourne, when I used to sit and watch him take inventory in the medical tent. I mentioned as much to him on one occasion and he smiled, and I think I saw his eyes brighten a little bit. I miss Aldbourne quite a bit these days. I wonder what it's like with all of us gone. I wonder if our old house is still locked up or whether the SOE have given it to some other team who have nicked all of our stuff in the process. The thought irks me so I try not to think about it.

Still, I spend the vast majority of my time with the boys. Tom is, of course, the first person I see when I wake up everyday and the last person I see before I fall asleep, but I don't mind all that much; having someone in the room with me makes it easier to calm down after I wake up in the middle of the night convinced I'm back in interrogation. The sound of my cell door slamming open still haunts my nightmares and keeps me up at night but it doesn't take me as long to realise that it's not real anymore. That's a small victory, at least.

After waking up on one particular morning both Tom and I seem to come to the wordless agreement that neither of us wants to get up for breakfast, so even though we're both awake, we merely lay in silence for a while.

Just when I think he's fallen back asleep, he asks into the air, "What do you think you'll do about going home? What will you say?"

I sigh deeply and think hard on how to reply. Of course I've thought about it - I've thought about it an awful lot, because even though we've not been discharged yet we're all secretly still hopeful - it's simply a case of I still have no idea. Even after hours of mulling it over I still haven't drawn any conclusions.

Eventually, I reply, "I'm not sure. I have no idea how I could possibly explain everything."

I hear Tom nod by the rustling of his pillow. "My parents haven't seen me since I was eighteen," he comments quietly. "You must've been sixteen, right? When you left home?"

"Yeah," I reply quietly. "Seventeen when they were told I'm dead."

"Nineteen for me," he comments. I nod, even though he can't see me. "Been a long war," he adds.

I laugh to myself. "Yeah. It has."

When we eventually go down for breakfast Will looks wider awake than usual and Martin looks like he's had enough of it.

"Happy D-Day Anniversary!" Will cheers.

I can't help but laugh. "Happy D-Day Anniversary!"

"Was that really a whole year ago?" Tom wonders aloud, dumbfounded.

As we take our seats in the hotel restaurant Will nods. "Feels like longer doesn't it?"

"So much longer," I agree. Much has changed since then.

"Don't the yanks find out who's being sent home today?" Martin questions around a sip of water. 

I nod, because he's right. Due to the unfair nature of the points system, in that veterans who have been on the front line for every bit of action the company has seen since D-Day still don't have enough to go home, for the anniversary of D-Day one of them is being chosen at random to get a one way ticket back to the States. I'm praying to God that it's Gene but I won't find out until later, after they've all been dismissed.

"I hope one of the veterans gets it," I mention, taking my own sip of water. "Someone who was there at the beginning."

They all nod and we fall into a comfortable silence, taking in the quiet with the absence of the yanks.

The Americans aren't due to find out the results of the draw until mid-afternoon, which means we're probably not likely to find them out until late-afternoon. The anticipation, like many things in my life now I know we've not been discharged, fills me with nerves. So, when we all decide to filter off to do whatever to fill the time, instead of heading back up to the room with Tom I tell them all I'll see them later and head off to the hotel lobby.

When I get there I find a pretty redheaded girl behind the front desk whose name tag reads 'Carlotta' and have to suppress my grin; this is obviously the girl Tom thinks fancies him.

"Hallo," I greet upon approaching her.

She sends me a dimpled smile in return. "Hallo. How can I help?" She speaks in accented English, obviously noting the American paratrooper ODs I'm wearing, which makes me smile.

"Ich wollte wissen, ob Sie Papier haben, dass ich ausleihen kann?"

She smiles brightly at my German and nods. "Natürlich. Wie viel brauchen Sie?"

I shrug, smiling back. "So viel wie Sie übrig haben."

The girl, Carlotta, sends me another warm smile and turns to go into what I presume is an office. She reemerges about a minute later with a large stack of the paper I asked for and a pencil as well. "Nur für den Fall, dass Sie einen brauchen," she explains, handing the pencil to me first and then the paper.

"Tausend Dank!" I exclaim excitedly. Even holding the weighty stack of paper fills me with some small shred of hope and enthusiasm and when I look back up at Carlotta I think she can tell.

"Kein Problem!" she replies with equal enthusiasm.

I send her one last smile before leaving the lobby and heading off into the relative quiet of Zell am See.

When I eventually come to sit by the lake it's silent but in a peaceful way as opposed to an eerie one like what we'd been greeted with in Berchtesgaden. In the absence of the yanks and even any of the locals who sometimes come to visit during the day, the only sounds are the lapping of the water against the shore and the gentle rustling of the leaves in the trees. I take a few moments to merely breathe it all in, absorbing as much of the serenity as I can. I never in a million years thought I would get to see somewhere so beautiful again and that's something worth cherishing for a little while.

When the soft breeze lifts the first few sheets of paper to brush against my hand where it holds them in place, I look down and set my mind to concentrating again. My pencil sits poised against the first page for a few moments, motionless, before I let the words flow out of me, transcribing as much as I can remember in exactly the way I remember it. I'm hoping that injecting as much vivid detail into it as I possibly can will help me heal. That's a very fine thread of hope I'm holding onto there but I feel like if there's even a chance it might work then I have to at least try. Of course, I'm taking a gamble in that writing everything out in such detail could make me completely break down and set me back a few steps as opposed to forwards, but for some reason I have a good feeling about this. I can't explain why, I just do.

So, beginning from the moment I left off, I continue to write out my confession.

I suppose it's not really a confession anymore but I don't really know what else to call it. A memoir? An autobiography? A diary, perhaps? I'm not entirely sure. Regardless, there's something freeing about knowing that this time I'm writing it for me. Just me. There is no Hauptsturmführer Becker here to read it and criticise it for its supposed abundance of surplus information, and I won't be punished for using all of the time and paper I need. It's hard to write out but knowing this makes it a tad bit easier.

I must have been writing for hours by the time someone comes to sit down beside me. I was so immersed I didn't even hear their footsteps but upon hearing their breath and seeing their shadow I know who it is immediately.

"Thought I'd find you here," Martin says, squinting into the sun as he gazes out across the lake. "Tom and Will are with the yanks. I thought you'd probably like to know the outcome of their draw."

I put the pencil down and turn to face him fully, chewing on my bottom lip as I await the verdict.

Martin glances at me once before looking back in front of him again. "Shifty won."

I let out a silent sigh but I can't find it in me to be too upset. Shifty deserves it and I truly believe that. I'm glad it's him.

"He deserves it," I reply softly, watching the lake too. "Apparently he's been on the line for every single one of the company's deployments. Plus, he was there at the beginning." I smile to myself a little bit. "And he's got the kindest heart. He's a gentle soul. I'm glad it's him."

"You're not sad it's not Gene?" Martin wonders. He's looking at me properly now, not so afraid of my reaction.

I shrug. "Of course. I wanted him to go home more than anything. But if it can't be Gene then I'm glad it's Shifty." And I really, truly mean that.

We fall into silence for a little while, though it's a comfortable silence. I think out of all the boys, who I love dearly in every single way, Martin's the best to sit and just think with. I'm glad it's him who came to seek me out to tell me the news.

"What are you writing?" he asks eventually, glancing down at the paper in my lap once before turning his eyes away, making sure not to pry.

I smile and follow his line of sight to the mountains on the other side of the lake. "I'm finishing my confession."

His eyes snap to me, his mouth half-open as though about to speak. He shuts it almost immediately though, perhaps upon seeing my smile.

I explain, "I'm hoping it might help. With everything that's happening and us not being discharged yet I feel like I'm in a constant state of panic. And I hate feeling like that. I just feel like I'm constantly on edge even when I have hardly any reason to be." I gesture to the paper. "I'm hoping that by writing it out - in the past tense, and the third person, just like all of the other confessions - it might help me to let go of that part of my past. I'll still have the memories and I'll still have an awful long way to go to heal but I'm hoping this might be a start."

Martin nods, and a small smile draws up the corner of his lips. "I'm proud of you," he says, and I can tell he really means it. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you that but I know we all are. Me especially. I don't know anyone else who could go through what you have and pick themselves back up again. And I know you think you've changed a lot, and in a lot of ways you have, but you've always kept your best qualities. I hope you know that."

I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes but I don't mind because at the same time I'm smiling so much my cheeks are beginning to hurt. "I'm proud of you too," I say, and I really mean it as well. "I don't know if you know this but I've always looked up to you. And you've always, _always_ been there for me - in the field and out of it." I laugh a little bit at all of the memories of the pair of us shooting at Nazis together. That feels like a different lifetime. "I'm proud of you and I'm so grateful for you. So grateful. I honestly couldn't have done it without you."

Martin nods and I nod back at him, but that means more than any words of thanks either of us could express.

After another while of silence he turns back to me, "Will you let us read it? The rest of your confession?"

"After it's done," I reply, and surprise myself with the absence of a 'maybe' or 'perhaps' tacked onto the end. I want to take that as a good sign, so I do.

"How far in are you?"

"I'm about to start what I think is week five," I reply. "A lot of the days blurred together, especially during the first few weeks, but I'm quite sure that's when this was." I gesture down at the page. "It'll be a while yet before I'm done but I'm happy with the progress I've made today."

Martin grins, looking down at the pile of paper I've separated because I've already filled it. "Yeah, looks like you've already written half a book."

I laugh a little bit. "Yeah, well I like to write out my thoughts too, and God knows I have a lot of those."

He laughs and I grin and we fall into silence again. After a while I pick up my pencil and carry on writing, and Martin seems content to just sit beside me and keep me company. For this, I'm grateful; remembering some of the most difficult experiences of my life is easier with family by my side.


	44. A House on Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." - Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore

I tend to spend a lot of my time writing out my confessions. I think it's doing me some good - trying to remember instead of forget but doing it in a way that feels like I'm in control, as though I'm a writer crafting characters and plot as opposed to the person experiencing it. Writing it in the third person and past tense helps a lot, too, and even though the writing makes the memories feel more vivid it also helps me lock them away a little bit in my mind.

The Americans are training a lot these days, preparing for their eventual deployment to the Pacific. No one knows when that will be which only makes waking up each day that bit more nerve-wracking because I'm always wondering whether today will be the day they're sent away, or the day I am. They should get a little bit more forewarning though; it's us that are at risk of a last minute deployment.

Any time the yanks aren't training I try to spend with them, as do the others. Where Tom and I have always been close with them, during my time in interrogation Martin and Will apparently grew close with them too; experiencing combat together will do that to people. I've heard brief stories and anecdotes about Bastogne and what happened there but I think Bastogne for them is the equivalent of what interrogation is for me, and I don't want to push them into telling me anything that's only going to upset them.

Our next update from HQ comes, conveniently, when all four of us are sitting in one of the bigger hotel rooms allocated to four of the men to share. It has a large living-space type area and two bedrooms which branch out off of it but we all fit comfortably into the main area. Will's playing poker with Chuck, Floyd, Malark, Popeye, and Frank, and seems to be winning, too (though I don't know the first thing about poker) whilst Martin and Johnny (Martin squared, if you will) seem to be content bitching about something or other. Tom is sitting with Liebgott, Skinny, and Alton More telling them all about the 'progress' he's making with Carlotta-who-works-in-the-lobby, whilst I sit with Gene, George, Babe, and Spina and we're all discussing whether the European or Pacific front is worse.

"From a spy's perspective," I begin to offer my tuppence, and giggle when George jokingly groans, "European is worse. I'm not even sure if they have spies in the Pacific but I think being stuck in the Gestapo HQ with only a watch and a lock-pick is maybe the worst kind of mission anyone can be sent on."

"You're shittin' me," Babe says, half-shocked and half-enthralled. "You've been to the Gestapo HQ?"

"Yeah, many times," I reply, laughing. "It's in Paris. Or, well, it was. It's in Berlin now but when I was breaking and entering it was in Paris."

"I hate that I have no fuckin' idea whether you're lyin'," Spina says, which makes me laugh because I absolutely am not.

Before I can reply, however, Will jumps to his feet and shouts, "Jules!"

"What?" I call back but then I hear it for myself; the radio static that signifies we're about to receive a message. "Oh, no."

"Shit," Tom says from the other sofa. When I look to Martin he's rubbing a hand down his face.

I hop to my feet as well and grab Will's radio off of the floor. He sweeps the poker table clear, to the soundtrack of the other men's protests, but we pay them no mind; we have very little time to get our act together.

Will puts on his headphones and takes a seat whilst I kneel on the floor beside the table, pencil poised against paper and ready to translate whatever we receive.

"What's -"

"Shh!" Tom hisses, and the room falls into dead silence. As the morse code begins to come through I can feel the eyes of the room upon us.

Will whispers the letters to me, though his attempt at secrecy is redundant in the sudden silence of the room, and as soon as I have them all down I translate them from their coded format. Out of convenience I force myself to read the finished message myself and when I look up at the others, suddenly gathered before me, I have to force myself not to cry.

"Tonight," I whisper, and hand the paper to Tom. I watch him scan over it and see his face fall as he realises that this isn't a false alarm. Then I watch as the same happens when Martin and Will read it, too.

"Okay, everyone in mine and Jules' room," Tom orders. "We need to get organised."

My heart is in my shoes by this point, and I feel like the room is spinning.

"Okay, Jules?" Tom asks. He takes ahold of my hand and ducks to meet my eyes.

I force myself to look back at him and send him a nod.

Martin leads us out with Will following him, and as Tom tows me quickly behind him I spare one final glance behind me and catch Gene's eye. He's frowning and in my attempt to try to smile I only manage to muster tears, so I give him a nod and follow Tom out of the door, trying desperately not to cry.

As soon as I've closed the door to mine and Tom's room behind us, Tom is relaying the ideas he's formulated for a plan. I try my hardest to pay attention but the words 'Gestapo', 'prisoners', and 'burn' are making me feel dizzy. I stumble my way over to Tom's bed, the closest to the door, and sit down, shutting my eyes tight and breathing deeply. I trust Tom and I'll trust whatever plan he's formulated, because I have to. I keep going and I do my job, because I have to. I'm allowed to be brave and I will be brave, because I have to.

This isn't, and has never been, a matter of choice.

I open my eyes when Tom finishes speaking and he turns to look at all of us in turn. He looks about as grave as we all feel but he tries his best to muster a smile when he looks at me, so I try my best to offer him one in return.

"It'll be clean," he vows, speaking slowly so we all understand the gravitas of his words. "No casualties, no mistakes, no captures." He looks at me pointedly when he says this final part.

When we all nod our understanding he lets his shoulders drop and he's once more just Tom, my best friend, as opposed to Tom, my CO. He comes to sit beside me on his bed and stares at me with sorrow in his eyes. "I hate this and I know you do too, but -"

"Tom," I cut him off, forcing all of the courage and strength in my body into these words, "I'm okay. I want to burn that place to the ground. I want to see it gone."

I'm not sure he believes me - I'm not sure I believe myself - but neither of us have any choice but to accept these words and move on. We have a job to do, after all.

I don't see Gene before we go due to the last minute nature of our orders. Just in case he comes to knock at some point, in the midst of all of the chaos I spare one of my sheets of hotel paper to write him a note:

_Nous sautons ce soir. Devrait être de retour demain. Souhaite moi bonne chance. Je t'aime. - J_

I tuck it under the door just as we're leaving, leaving a corner peaking out underneath it. It would only be visible to someone looking for it, and I think he'd be looking. I hope so, at least, otherwise I've just wasted some of my fancy paper.

The plane we have to use, in the absence of airfields around here, is waiting for us in a nearby field. We don't speak to the pilot, though we never do, and instead get ourselves situated in the back with little fuss. The entire time my heart is pounding with nerves because the whole thing feels familiar in a strange way; it's not familiar because I've done it so many times before but it feels more like something I experienced in a dream. A dream, I hope, and not a nightmare.

The jump used to always be my favourite part but I find it extremely difficult to get past my nerves. I'm trying so desperately to push my fears and worries down but they don't seem to want to be silenced. I have to summon every single last ounce of courage in me to keep on going, and indeed that's what I keep repeating to myself in my head: keep going, keep going, keep going. Just take one thing at a time and keep going.

The streets of Berlin are eerily silent by the time we're walking them but at least there are no Nazi patrols. Large sections of the city are bombed out but a lot of it remains; the place I hate the most in the world remains but hopefully not for long. As long as I can will myself to go back in there. As long as I can keep my head and remember my training. As long as I don't freeze.

When 0230 strikes Will gives us the signal from the inside and we're entering the building. Entering through the front door is an entirely different experience to being dragged in through the back. Slipping past the guards with Will's distraction is easier than I thought it would be, and I'm so grateful, because if they saw my face I'm sure they'd recognise me. I'm almost certain.

However, the fact that I was once a prisoner here has given us one hefty advantage: I know the layout of the building like the back of my hand. I got Will in and situated without him even having to come into contact with anyone, and I can get the rest of us in whilst making sure that we're always taking the guards from behind. It was cruel of the SOE to send me on this mission knowing of the trauma I experienced here, but it was also incredibly clever.

Drugging the guards isn't difficult. With the new syringes they've given us we can inject it into their necks from behind and they drop in seconds. Hidden in the shadows and leaving a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs behind us, we make our way through the halls silently, and when the time comes, we split up.

Martin heads to do the floors at the very top whilst Tom and I head for the middle - contrary to popular belief, all of the prisoners are kept above ground; it's more difficult to escape when you're that far up. The cellars are reserved for interrogations. I shiver to recall those treacherous rooms.

Once Tom and I are on the uppermost of our group of floors, I halt, not because of the guards but because of the memories. But I have a job to do. I have a job I want to do. And I have a job I'm _going_ to do even if it kills me.

Tom squeezes my shoulder and sends me a reassuring nod before he goes around to the other end of the hallway via the staff corridors. Standing there, all alone in the dark in the place that comes to mind when I imagine hell, I feel myself start to panic. I'm starting to lose my nerve and my hands are starting to shake, so I clasp them around my cyanide necklace. But Tom gives me the signal just in time and my hands may be shaking but that doesn't mean I can't inject two guards. I have a syringe in each fist when they land at my feet. I can't help the smile that draws up my lips.

Maybe I am fragile now. But maybe I'm not fragile like glass. Maybe I'm fragile like a bomb.

Tom sends me a nod and we unlock each cell, starting from the ends and making our way in. The first one is empty, I find, but the second one isn't. The prisoner they have in there is a boy, perhaps around seventeen, and he doesn't look nearly dirty or beaten enough to have been here beyond a week. Regardless, he's so happy to be rescued he flings his arms around me and I have to beg him to keep his gratitude quiet.

Tom and I make our way inwards silently and end up gathering the prisoners between us. The prisoners are more than happy to oblige our pleas for silence - absolutely anything to be rescued. They gather together at the other end of the hall, the one Tom came in through, and watch as we work.

When I get to the sixth door I pause before picking the lock. When the door swings inwards it's empty but my blood is still stained on the floor. This was the place they beat me, and burned me, and cut me open, and hung me up, and kicked me, and taunted me, and tried to drown me. It brings tears to my eyes but I don't cry.

I take a few steps in and make sure to pour the petrol over the desk I always wrote at and over the chair I used to sit in. I pour it over the wall my head was smashed against and the one I was tied up from. I pour it everywhere.

Then I move on to the next room, and the next, and the next, and then the floor below, and the one below that, too. Focusing on the process takes my mind off of what I'm actually doing, though my attention is drawn away when I hear loud, unmistakable slamming footsteps crashing through the floor below. The floor below doesn't have any prisoners on it - it doesn't have anyone on it, besides Will, which is why I told him to go there. The fact that someone's heading there now does not bode well.

I share a panicked glance with Tom and turn before he can tell me not to; I know these hallways better than he does. If Will's in trouble he'll need someone who knows how to get him out and Tom won't be able to do that. I force my fear down and shove my shoulders back, chin held high as I sneak through the staff corridors - being afraid won't help Will and I am not surrendering him to the same fate I faced. Not for anything.


	45. Centuries of Chains and Lashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I understood that centuries of chains and lashes will not kill the spirit of man nor the sense of truth within him." - Ayn Rand, Anthem

I recognise him through the crack in the door. Even from behind. Even in the darkness. Even when Will hasn't yet. I'd recognise him anywhere. Fear number two. Hauptsturmführer Becker.

I knew, of course. Before getting here. I could tell it was him immediately from the sound of his stomping footsteps - always traipsing around as though he's trying to make himself go through the floor. I've always found it intimidating, which I'm sure is his intention, even though I've also always known that it's a show of him needing to prove himself.

I remain behind the door to the staff corridor for the time being - best not to show my hand too soon, especially as Will hasn't even seen him yet. My timing needs to be dead perfect, here. Also, if I'm being terribly honest, I'm afraid. No time for fear but I'm afraid. God, I'm so afraid. Scared scared SCARED. Sick of being scared but I am.

"Handing yourself in to us?" the hauptsturmführer taunts Will. I have to ignore the icy foreboding that fills my veins, the bile that crawls its way up my throat, the way my heart has dropped about ten floors below ground. That voice haunts me and it is _exactly_ as I remember it. God he's so close he's so close he's so close he's so close.

"Hauptsturmführer Becker?" Will asks tentatively, no traces in his voice of the fear I feel. Clever boy. Perhaps he knows I'm here; not physically - I know he hasn't seen me - but perhaps he just knows instinctively that I'll get him out even if I die trying. Perhaps he knows I won't leave him behind.

"Let me guess," the hauptsturmführer drawls, circling Will where he's crouched on the floor surrounded by radio equipment like a vulture about to dive for its prey. "William, the radio operator. Am I correct?"

Blasted bloody confessions did you have to go into that much _detail_ bloody hell, Juliette.

Becker crosses the door I'm hiding behind just in time that I don't catch Will's expression but I know his face must have fallen from how the hauptsturmführer cackles.

"Yes, she told us all about you," the evil brute of a man continues. Even though his back is turned I can picture the sneer on his face, the squint of his eyes, and the sickly pallor of his skin. Horrible, horrible, wretched demon of a man. I hate him. I _hate_ him.

"All good things, I hope," Will returns. It makes me smile. I can hear the note of terror in his voice now but he's still hanging onto his nerve. Darling Will, I LOVE YOU.

"I expect she's told you all about me, as well," the hauptsturmführer goes on. "All about what I did to her. As a result, I expect you know in explicit detail what's in store for you."

Rotten, vile, hideous creature I want him dead and six feet under but he doesn't deserve such mercy I want him to burn.

"You're a wretched soul, do you know that?"

When Hauptsturmführer Becker pounces on his prey I burst through the door. Can't help myself. He's not getting those evil hands on Will. I'm not having it.

"Happy to see me?"

His hands are around my neck before I can even blink. I expect he's not thinking too clearly - too irritated with Will's brazenness, my snark, and the fact that I managed to slip out from between his rat fingers with my confession, all the evidence he has that I ever confessed, along with me.

Will shouts in shock and horror and I meet his eyes over the hauptsturmführer's shoulder. "Apart and back together," I manage to gasp. Tears are pooling in my eyes, my legs kicking against the floor where his grip is so strong it's now the only thing holding me up, hands clasped tightly around the wrists that seek to kill me once more.

The fact that I managed to speak must be evidence enough that his grip isn't tight enough so Becker strangles me with increased fervour. I was right about his sneer, by the way. And his squinted eyes and sickly skin. Just as I remember him, though I'm sure I'm much improved.

"You never did learn your lesson, did you, foolish girl?" the hauptsturmführer spits at me in German. And then he really does spit at me. Again. God, how many fucking times have I had his saliva on my face?

"Didn't have a good teacher," I manage to retort. He only squeezes tighter. Losing a lot of air by now. "Bastard." Can't help myself. He is a bastard.

He grins that sharklike smile that haunts me. He squeezes tighter. He opens his mouth to speak.

Will slips one of the radio's wires around his neck and pulls so tightly Becker drops me and I collapse, coughing and choking on air with tears streaming down my cheeks as I gasp for breath. Brilliant Will, who knew exactly what I meant with the three words I was able to give him. Apart and back together, just like he told me. Take the radio apart and put it back together but this time, make it a weapon.

I have little to no strength left and I know it but I need to help Will. What to make a weapon out of? I'm all out of syringes, guns were too bulky to carry, knives a liability where they might have caught any dwindling light. Think, think, think.

I struggle to my feet and a guard bursts in, likely having heard Will's shout. I have the gun out of his hand before he's even noticed me but once I've drawn his attention I'm not so lucky.

A kick to the gut and I'm winded and on the floor - blasted broken rib. I aim lazily and fire as best I can. The bullet hits his leg. I get a scream but he doesn't collapse. Shit shit shit.

Another bullet and I manage to hit the other one, too. If only I could get my arm up higher. Who knew the ribs were so important?

When he crashes down onto the floor beside me, still lamenting his agony, he must see me raise the gun again in his periphery because he slams my head into the ground and now everything's blurry and _why do people keep doing that to me?_ I must have a really smash-able head.

Room's spinning. Must've been the same temple as last time. Brain's gone to mush. Aim the gun, Juliette. Can't think straight. Is Will okay? Where's Tom? What time is it? Aim the gun, Juliette. Room's spinning so fast. Ow. My head really hurts. Aim the gun, Juliette. My stomach hurts _so much_. Gene's going to kill me. I was supposed to be resting. Bet that rib's smashed now. God, it hurts. AIM THE GUN, JULIETTE.

Must've fired it because the guard's not sprawling on his back like an overturned tortoise anymore. Head still hurts though. Room's still spinning. Rib still REALLY FUCKING HURTS as well. 

I have to blink really, really hard a few times and it probably takes about a minute before things come back into focus. Tom's here, now, talking to me. Should probably listen to what he's saying.

"- okay, Jules?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, um, yes. Yeah. Where's Will?"

Tom gestures behind him and the Will is staring down at the hauptsturmführer, the wire from the radio dangling from his clenched fist. I can finally cross Fear Number Two off of my list.

"We need to go," Tom tells me. "All of the prisoners are outside with Martin, we've taken out the rest of the guards, and everything's covered in petrol. Ready?"

I nod. I am so ready to get out of this God forsaken place and never see it again. My throat hurts too, now that I think about it. That'll probably bruise. Gene's not going to be happy.

When Tom pulls me to my feet I have to grit my teeth really tightly to prevent the cry from emerging. My entire body just hurts. But it's done and we're going and I haven't been caught again and no one's dead so I can't complain really.

Before I know it we're out the back doors and counting prisoners, making sure everyone's here. And then we light the place up. And then we Watch It Burn.

But we don't get to appreciate the spectacle for long; we have prisoners to deliver.

They're all in a state of shock, I think - well, I know, I _remember_ \- and some of them are hysterical, but even as it wrenches my heart to do so, we have to force them to be quiet. We can't sedate them - too much dead weight to carry between the four of us, especially now that I'm sporting a head wound and an incredibly broken rib or whatever diagnosis I'll get from Gene later (can't wait!) - so we have to try our best to silence them into submission. In some cases this only makes their blubbering more hysterical because - and I know this for a fact - doing this is _so much like_ how they treat you when you're being taken in in the first place. But the SOE has made plans for where to send them and we won't rest until every single one of them is safely on their way out of Germany, so they have to be quiet otherwise the whole lot of us will be caught.

The lack of patrols is such a blessing; we still have to use backstreets and jump garden walls and so on and so forth but it's a lot less frightening when you know you're not going to be stopped at every checkpoint. Still frightening though - we have to make our way on foot to a meeting point where the prisoners will be taken off of our hands and we'll be free to get back in the plane to Austria. Can't help the dread that fills me every time I turn to look over my shoulder just in case. We've put some distance between ourselves and the building by now, though, so we should be alright.

Tom and Martin are at the front of the group with Will and I at the back and I only realise there's a problem when I end up walking into the prisoner in front of me because I was looking behind me again. My eyes immediately flicker to Will, who's staring back at me with his own mixture of perplexity and nervousness written across his face. Completely out of nowhere my mind recalls a retelling of a story of the paratroopers training in Aldbourne when George imitated some Major or other with 'What is the goddamn hold up, Mr Sobel?' and the absurdity of that thought rising up completely unbidden makes me smile a bit to myself.

But then Martin shouts the code word and my smile drops right off of my face as we scatter.

Technically none of us are supposed to run together - it'd be a two-for-the-price-of-one deal if we were caught - but I can see Will starting to panic so I grab him by the arm and drag him along with me. I all but throw him into the midst of an overgrown hedge before bundling in after him and together, pressed up against each other side by side, we watch the faces of the last few stragglers of the prisoners we just rescued drop into oblivion. I don't even have to look to know what they've seen; only one thing can instil that much fear in the eyes of ex-prisoners and it is the Gestapo.

I look anyway and there are _so many of them_. So many of them. But I can't let on that I'm scared because I can tell that Will's scared so I have to be brave to make him brave. All of my emotions are locked away in the back of my mind and we'll deal with them later (if, indeed, there is a later).

The prisoners are seized immediately by figures who are no more than silhouettes in the near-darkness. Some of them scream. Most of them cry. Of our group of thirty-two, six of them are now back in the hands of the Gestapo. Shit shit shit. Not much we can do but watch and wait.

One of the guards ends up lingering right in front of where Will and I are hiding and I analyse everything I can see of him to work out my plan of attack if it comes down to it. Which is his dominant leg? Which side does he reach for his gun on? Which hand does he use?

One of the prisoners - a woman of around forty - manages to make a break for it and they shoot her in the head immediately. Have to force myself not to cry or scream or both.

Will starts to cry though so I clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent him from giving us away. This is just the worst. It's the worst. Oh, God, it's the worst. I wonder where Tom and Martin are. I know they'll be safe in hiding but I can't help but wonder where they are. Have they gone? Did they manage to make a break for it? I really, really hope they did. I hope it so much it's painful.

I don't see what's happening but I hear the telltale 'Aha!' that one of the guards makes and then four more prisoners are dragged into view and lined up. How has this all gone so wrong so fast?

One of the guards shoots two of them. "Give yourselves up or we will shoot them all," he calls in commanding, accented English. "We will find you anyway. This way, we all get to live."

I latch a hand onto Will's arm to prevent him from moving. Selfish of me but I'm not going back to prison. I'm not going back to prison. I AM NOT GOING BA

A man runs out into the centre of the action and gets restrained immediately.

"Any more?" the guard shouts tauntingly.

The first boy I rescued comes barrelling out along with a girl who looks much the same age - too young to die. I want to scream at them, 'Why are you trusting them?! They'll kill you anyway! And it'll be much more painful than a bullet to the head! What they'll do is _worse_ than death!' But it's funny what you'll do when you're desperate. And that's what this is. Pure desperation. And panic. And terror. No one knows what to do. I don't know what to do.

The funny thing is, we could sort this all out if we just had guns. We should've just brought the guns. Why didn't we bring the fucking guns?

I think Martin must have had the same thought at the exact same time as me because he comes dashing out of his hiding place - which, incidentally, wasn't all that far from Will and I's at all - and grapples with the closest guard to him for his gun. Which, of course, gets him a gun aimed at his own head. Then he's lined up with the other prisoners.

Martin, so strong and loyal and defiant. So brave. Martin, a prisoner? Never. It doesn't become him. Neither does crying, but he's doing that too.

My heart is in bits.

He's really trying not to cry, I can tell. But a tear has slipped out and I bet another is on its way. He has no idea where we are, of course. Perhaps he thinks we've bolted just like I'd hoped him and Tom had done. Perhaps he saw Tom run and thought Will and I had gone, too.

He threw himself out there for complete strangers and now he's paying the ultimate price for it. So brave. So, so brave.

They're cuffing their 'prisoners' now; each of them is being chained to the next by their ankles making sure they couldn't run even if they tried to. Think, think, think, Juliette. To think is the only hope. All of the prisoners are either lined up with the guards or too weak and too scared to do anything. Will's too scared and I'm too weak to do anything either but we don't have any choice. Have to assume Tom's gone. I really hope he has.

Suddenly, I come up clutching tight to one tiny thread of hope, one glimmer of an idea. I turn to Will and kiss his cheek, muttering, "Keep your eyes on Martin," and then I'm off before he can protest.

I kick the legs out from underneath the guard closest to me and as he falls I snatch his gun. A bullet in the head and I've got myself a human shield, barbaric but needs must.

A shower of bullets comes flying at me immediately, which is what I'd been banking on; I use the blanket of sound and confusion as an opportunity to slide my gun across to Will and shout, "Hit the chains!" hoping he can hear me.

So many guns are trained on me that if Will shoots Martin free he should be able to escape. My human shield is getting shot to pieces and now I'm wondering how the hell I'm going to get myself out of this alive. But that was never the plan. I didn't run out here to get myself out alive, I did it to get Martin out. Thought it was incredibly brave when I watched Martin do much the same but I don't feel brave myself. Just desperate.

The sound of a car engine roars over the noise of the bullets and then headlights turn into the alleyway. It can only be reinforcements. I don't even know when they had the time to call.

Then a gun lands beside me and I turn and there's Thomas, right there when I need him, crouched behind a wall and out of sight from everyone but me. He's not stupid enough to throw himself back into the fray but he's given me a fighting chance to get out of it.

I hit as many guards as I can see in rapid fire, barely pausing to aim, and I know Will's helping me even though he's giving away his hiding in doing so. The guards are dragging whichever prisoners they can grab back towards their vehicle and I try my best to hit them but it's so dark I can barely even see.

A blur on my right and Tom runs out of hiding to make a human shield out of another guard and oh, God, this is a total nightmare. I don't know how any of us are going to make it out of here alive. The war is over but we're still in shootouts with Nazis. WHEN WILL IT END?

Tom and I share one glance and shoot out the tires. Will rushes out of the bushes and stands between Tom and I and we take out as many guards as we can without getting hit ourselves.

Everything happens very fast then.

There's some sort of counteroffensive on the other side but it's so dark I can't see what's happening. All I can do is shoot the guards as I see them but they're dwindling in number now - much fewer than the rapidly emerging prisoners who are each trying to take them down too.

Martin's beside me before I can even register it and he's shouting instructions that I can't hear but he grabs me and starts to run and I suppose I didn't really need to hear anyway.

And we make it to the checkpoint. Every prisoner who made it out alive ends up on their way safely out of Germany. And I have no idea how we manage it but we end up back in the plane, on the way to Austria. Alive. All four of us, actually alive. I couldn't explain it even if I wanted to.


	46. O That 'Twere Possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "O that 'twere possible   
> After long grief and pain   
> To find the arms of my true love   
> Round me once again!"  
> \- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Maud

It's daylight by the time we get back and our welcome is rather unceremonious because the Americans are all training. This was to be expected, however, so I take the time to shower and reflect. And then I write. For hours. Because now that we've burned that God forsaken place to the ground I want to finish writing everything that happened to me there. And I also want to write about the fact that we burned it. I want to document the fact that it's gone and that the world is an infinitely better place because of it and that even through that treacherous mission all of us are still _alive_. I honestly can't believe it.

In my writing marathon I end up making it all the way to my rescue - which is incredibly blurry, so I have to get Tom to help me remember what happened. He also gives me a play-by-play of how he got me out, and I write that too, because even though I was unconscious for it it deserves a place in my story, perhaps more so than anything else.

At some point when I'm writing I decide that I'm going to document everything; instead of finishing with my rescue I'm going to finish with my formal discharge, because it's coming. I know it is. It won't be like this forever and we will be let go. At some point they'll decide we've done enough, given enough, lost enough. And I'm waiting for it. I know it's coming.

Tom pulls me away from writing after a few hours, concerned that I've not slept a wink, and, admittedly, I crash the moment my head hits the pillow. All that adrenaline has caught up with me and I'm out like a light.

I'm not sure how much later it is when I'm shaken gently awake but I still feel like I haven't slept in weeks.

Someone's speaking to me but they may as well be speaking Russian for all I can comprehend what they're saying.

They persevere with, "Jules, wake up," and it's Thomas. Should've guessed.

I take my chances with still pretending to be asleep but he just shakes me again. "Jules, you have to wake up."

"I don't," I reply, burying my face into the pillow.

I can imagine the eye roll he must give me but I'm still yet to open my eyes. "Jules. Open your eyes."

"I'm tired."

"You need to be checked for concussion."

"Go away."

"Regretting your decision yet, Gene? She can be awfully grouchy when she's woken up."

I hear Gene laugh and then feel the mattress dip where he's obviously sat on it. "C'mon, chérie, I just need to check you over."

"I'm tired."

"That's the head trauma talking," Tom puts in helpfully. If my eyes weren't closed I would roll them.

"No, it's the staying up all night running through hallways and trying to get us all out of a shootout talking."

He huffs and plays his ace. "Juliette Chevalier, open your eyes right now or I'll march you to the hospital and you can explain to them what happened."

This has my eyes shooting open. "Fine! They're open."

"Good," he drawls with a smirk. "Over to you, Gene. Godspeed."

As soon as his back is turned I mutter, "Tosser," and he laughs before leaving.

When the door shuts behind him my eyes fall on Gene, who's looking down at me with the softest of smiles. "Ready?"

"So excited."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Follow my finger with your eyes, alright?" So I do, and it takes maybe a minute before he nods to himself. "Should be alright. Your reactions are fine." All that fuss for a minute's examination? Well, now I feel rather silly. "Let me check over that rib."

This earns a nervous round of giggles from me which has him furrowing his eyebrows. Regardless, just like I always do when he asks to check it, I lay back on the bed and lift up the hem of my top. "Trying to undress me, Gene?" I tease, trying to distract him from what is likely the most broken rib ever.

He grins, laying a hand across the bruised skin first to get me used to the touch. "What if I was?"

I giggle which makes him smile and then he carefully checks everything over. And it hurts _so much_. As soon as he prods at it I wince - it can't be helped. It felt like I'd shattered it when it happened.

"It's gotten worse," he informs me with eyebrows drawn together. "Somethin' happen?"

There's no skirting around it. "Bit of a fight with one guard and then I had to throw myself into concrete to get us out of a shootout with the Gestapo. It couldn't be helped."

"Juliette..." He's wearing that look of disapproval he likes to make when I get myself hurt.

"Gene," I begin levelly, "if I could've avoided it, I would have. Will needed help the first time and the second they had Martin as a prisoner. I wasn't just going to let them go through what happened to me. I couldn't -" A deep breath and let's calm down, shall we? Jesus. I'm an emotional wreck. "I couldn't just not do anything."

Gene sighs but his eyes have softened and he's looking at my face, now, as opposed to my bruises. "Just be careful, alright? It's set the recovery back about six weeks."

"A small price to pay, really," I supply mindlessly. This makes him breathe out a small laugh which, in turn, makes me grin. He can never stay angry at me anyway.

"Any other injuries I should know about?" he wonders, looking almost as though he's afraid to hear the answer.

A hand instinctively comes up to rest against my neck but there's not much he can do about that anyway, especially as the inevitable bruising likely hasn't shown up yet anyway. So I shake my head and hold that same hand out to him, which he takes, and pull him down to lay beside me.

"Are you free for the rest of the day?" I inquire as I bury my face in his neck. When Gene replies in the affirmative, I feign shock. "What? No inventory?"

He chuckles. "Spina drew the short straw today."

I laugh a little bit as he brushes a hand through my hair. "How was training?"

"Intense," he replies with a shrug. "It's like we're back to the beginnin' all over again." He shifts to look down at me and I can hear the small smile in his voice. "I got your note."

I return his smile, even though he can't see it. "You did?" He hums his affirmative. "I'm glad," I add, "I would've wasted my fancy hotel paper otherwise."

"Where'd you get it from?"

"Front desk," I reply nonchalantly, moving my head to rest on his chest so I can listen to his heartbeat. "I'm continuing my confessions. I thought that maybe writing about my interrogations in the third person and the past tense might help me to separate my past from my present. I'll still have the memories and it'll still be difficult but I think it's helping me to move on."

"Yeah?" he asks, and when I look up at him he's smiling in earnest.

I sit up to glance over at the desk and the stack of paper I've already filled that resides there. "Yeah," I affirm with a smile of my own.

"Would you -" he begins, sitting up himself, and then clears his throat. I already know what's coming. "Would you let me read 'em?"

I've thought about this already but never really drawn a conclusion. That's why I surprise myself when I reply without a second thought, "Yeah." I nod as though to reassure myself that I've made the right decision. "I'll give you the first half to read - the real confessions that I wrote when I was there - and you can read the second when they're finished."

His smile falters a little bit as his eyes follow my gaze, looking at the papers as well. I can tell what he's thinking just from looking at his face but I have a helping hand because I'm thinking it, too. _What if he's gone by the time I'm finished?_

The thought is a punch to the gut. It's a recurring one, of course, but every time I think it is seemingly more painful than the last. This time especially so because I know he's thinking it too. How do we always manage to find ourselves so terribly doomed?

When he glances down at me I lean up to kiss him and he accepts me with a hand cupping my cheek and the other hugging the small of my back close to him. It's sweet and innocent, like most of our kisses, until he deepens it and suddenly it's desperate.

We're running out of time. I know it and he knows it, so what's holding us back?

When he has me pressed into the mattress, lips exploring my neck whilst my hands slowly trace a map over his back, I decide that I want this with him. But not here.

"Gene," I whisper, hands pausing on his shoulders.

"Hm?" he hums but doesn't stop.

"Gene, we should go to your room."

He hums his assent but still doesn't stop. My head is spinning but I have enough good sense in me to know that if Tom walked in I would absolutely die, so I push Gene back gently by the shoulders. "Your room."

He kisses me quickly and all of a sudden jumps to his feet and picks me up in a bridal carry. All the way to his room I'm giggling, full of love and just genuinely happy. He kisses me after every few steps and from his smile I know that he feels the exact same way. So for the moment we don't have to worry about the Pacific. For the moment it's just us.


	47. A Brief Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This is a brief life, but in its brevity it offers us some splendid moments, some meaningful adventures." - Rudyard Kipling, Kim

Everything seems to start happening very quickly all of a sudden. A replacement named John Janovec gets killed in a car crash after relieving Webster at a crossroad checkpoint, news comes a few days later that Shifty has been rushed to hospital in England after a car crash on his way home, and Chuck Grant, a very well-liked NCO, gets shot in the head by a drunk American soldier. It all seems to happen within such a short space of time that no one can even really begin to comprehend it.

All of this has a huge impact on Gene. He tries not to show it but I can tell that it does, so I try my very best to be there for him. When he first became a medic he made a conscious effort not to get too close to the men because he knew he'd have to save their lives one day, but even still, he cares. He cares about them an awful lot and what happened to Chuck, especially, hit him hard. I think it affected him the most largely because there was nothing he could do for him. But Chuck's in hospital now and he's recovering which makes things a little bit easier for Gene.

The Americans' training also seems to pick up. Floyd steps down as company First Sergeant where Malarkey takes his place, and through it all they seem to be training harder and longer with each passing day. They all traipse back to their rooms in the hotel exhausted everyday, and how they find the energy to wake up and do it all over again the following morning I have no idea. The increased fervour of their training only makes me worry they'll be sent out to the Pacific sooner than anyone thinks.

"When do you think the yanks'll be sent off, then?" Martin asks around a yawn whilst we're all lounging in his and Will's room. Will and I are sitting on the floor with his radio between us whilst Tom and Martin lay on each of the beds, chatting idly between them. When Martin's voice pitches to address all of us, however, I tune in to the conversation.

"No idea," Tom replies with a short shrug.

Everyone looks to me and all I can do is shrug as well. "They don't know yet. I don't even think the officers do, let alone the enlisted. I asked Malark if he's got any advanced information and he has no clue. Could be any day, I suppose, though I think they should get a fair bit of forewarning."

"I'm worried for them," Will comments quietly. He doesn't raise his eyes from the radio, just continues his fiddling. "The Pacific front sounds nasty."

I nod and don't reply; the thought keeps me up at night.

"What will you and Gene do?" Martin asks me curiously.

I share a look with Tom; Tom and I have discussed it a few times - as have Gene and I, of course - but everything's draped in such a thick layer of uncertainty that we can't draw any viable decisions. The four of us have to stay here until we're either discharged or sent out again, and no one knows when that'll be, whilst Gene'll be going off to fight again. There's no way to decide what we'll do because we have no idea what the situation is yet.

"We don't know," I answer eventually. I offer up nothing else because there's nothing else to say.

Martin nods and then wonders, "How far into your confession are you now?"

I laugh a little bit. "VE-Day. But I'm going to carry on writing until we're discharged. I'm hoping later today I'll get to Austria."

Tom smiles to himself. "Has Gene read any of it yet?"

"Yeah," I reply through a laugh. "I'm embarrassed to think what I wrote when I was in interrogation - I haven't looked at it since. He says he's up to D-Day so he's got a ways to go yet, though."

They each laugh a little bit before a silence settles over us. I know they're all thinking about the pages I wrote about my time in interrogation, and I'm thinking about them, too. When the three of them read them I think they struggled a lot to comprehend the fact that it was, at one point, my reality. But I think in a way I'm relieved that they know everything now, especially because it saves me having to ever verbally tell them.

I'm torn from my line of thought when the radio on the floor between Will and I starts making its familiar, foreboding static. The pair of us share a look, wide-eyes and mouths pulled into thin lines, before I leap up to grab a piece of paper and a pencil whilst he puts the headphones on.

After writing out the message Will receives and translating it, I hand the paper over to Tom without processing the words; I'm too afraid we're being deployed again.

Tom reads the words for a long moment despite the fact there aren't very many of them. When he looks up again he has tears in his eyes as he says two simple words: "Formal discharge."

I feel all of the air leave my lungs. I think I feel my heart stop beating and the blood run still in my veins, too. The room is maybe starting to spin but all I can register are the loud, joyous giggles spilling from my lips and the radiant smiles on each of the boys' faces.

"It is finally actually fucking _over_!" Martin shouts so loudly I'm sure everyone on the hotel floor can hear us.

"It's over!" we all cheer back to him and launch ourselves at each other into a tight group hug.

"We've done enough," Tom says. He's smiling so brightly and I want to lock this memory into my mind forever. "We've done enough."

"We're finished," I say, as though in a daze, and my cheeks are hurting from smiling so wide.

"God damn, how did we make it literally to the end?" Will asks, laughing through the tears leaking from his eyes.

I hug everyone just a little bit tighter, trying to project all of my love onto them. "I love you all so much. You're my family in every sense of the word and I love you all."

"God, I love each of you so much," Tom says, laughing when a single tear slides down his cheek.

"Couldn't have done it without you all," Martin comments. I rest my head on his shoulder in a bid to show him my affection and feel his arm tighten over my shoulders.

Many tears, many laughs, and many, many smiles later we've all pulled back and crammed ourselves together on Will's bed. I can't help but grin every time I look at them and they always grin back.

We made it.

"What the bloody hell are we actually supposed to tell our parents?" Will asks entirely out of the blue.

We all burst into laughter even though that really is cause for quite a bit of concern. At this point I've almost forgotten that I've got any.

Martin brushes him away. "We'll worry about it later. For now I'm thinking we need alcohol and as much of it as we can get."

As always, he gets a hearty lot of agreement from all of us, and a little bit over two hours later we find ourselves completely and riotously inebriated. (Again).

After we arrived back with the alcohol we decided not to leave the hotel room again; this is a celebration we want to keep just between us. The four of us. Because we've done it all together.

When I'm sober I'm affectionate enough, but drunk-me is so absolutely full of love for each of the men beside me. Martin, who has always, always had my back. Will, who has the sweetest heart of anyone I know and who always tries to put a smile on my face. Tom, who I've been through it all with. Who has been by my side through everything. Tom, who I can't even begin to express my love for. A brother in every way except blood.

For the first time since knowing each other, we discuss our memories of the war without the worry that they'll come back to bite us. It's over and we will never have to go on another mission again. _It's over._

"Do you remember when we managed to get ourselves involved in a street-wide shootout in Calais?" Will says, words punctuated by giggles. "And Tom fell over right in the middle of the street and I think everyone must've been laughing so much that that's the only reason no one shot him."

I laugh loudly at the memory. "It _was_ a rather spectacular fall."

"Yeah, well, remember when Jules fell down the stairs at that fancy gala?" Tom counters. He turns a smirk on me but I'm laughing even harder now.

"Oh my God, that hurt so much," I recall through my laughter. "I was so embarrassed."

"Remember when Tom kissed Jules and she threw up?!" Martin all but shouts.

I just about die from embarrassment. "Why does everyone remember that?!" Then I grin. "What about when Martin got stuck in a tree after a jump?"

By the end of our conversation - a long while later, because we've been in the field a lot over the years - I'm rolling around on the floor with the giggles, Will's hanging upside down off the end of the bed, Tom's lying face-down on the window ledge, and Martin has literally tucked himself into bed (old man as he is).

From an outsider's perspective, we're a mess. Well, from an insider's too, I suppose. But we've always been a little bit messy - it's one of the things I love most about our little family. A family that is dysfunctional as all hell, a patchwork of people who never would've met in peacetime, but who, against all odds, have found a bond closer than blood. I love them so dearly. I love them _so_ dearly.

"God, how am I supposed to say goodbye to you lot?" I ask after my giggles have eventually subsided. We've tried not to think about the future but in the silence we've fallen into it's unavoidable. Our days together are numbered.

"Well," Martin begins, "you could say it in English, so we'll all understand. But if you want to marginalise Will then German would work."

I roll my eyes but laugh anyway because I'll miss his snarky comments. I end up staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought but still very much with the giggles.

When a knock sounds at the door none of us move to get it, so after a few moments Martin shouts, "It's open!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," George says upon entering. I don't look up but I know there's a whole group of yanks standing in the doorway. "We came to see if you wanted to come out with us but on second thought you probably shouldn't."

"We're not that drunk," Will insists, even though he's still hanging upside down and very clearly hammered.

"What's the occasion?" Floyd wonders. I can hear the smile in his voice.

I can't help but grin. "Formal discharge!" I cheer, and Will whoops as soon as I've said it. I imagine that Tom and Martin are both smiling, too.

"You're done?" Liebgott asks.

I can't help but laugh whilst I nod.

"Got the news about three hours ago," Tom replies, his voice muffled from where he's still laying face-down on the window ledge.

"That explains it," Malarkey comments.

"You guys are a _mess_ ," Babe adds, which only sends me into another round of giggles. All he gets for a reply is me laughing, Tom groaning, and Martin rolling over in bed.

The yanks leave again after a little while and none of the four of us decide to move. Certainly we've been drunker than this before but for some reason laying there like that, spread out haphazardly across the room, and just enjoying each other's presence is a better pastime than anything else I can think of. So we all just lay there, letting those two wonderful words sink in. _Formal discharge._ It really is over. For now I feel incredibly content, but the question for tomorrow will be: now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all ends tomorrow. 3 more chapters and an epilogue. I'm very not ready.


	48. To Gaze at the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you love a flower which happens to be on a star, it is sweet at night to gaze at the sky. All the stars are a riot of flowers." - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

"What are you gonna do about home?" The question on everyone's lips these days. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't on mine as well; it runs through my head almost constantly and I find myself forgetting who I've asked it to and when. That's much the same for all of us though - I think Will's asked me it about four times already today.

This time, it's Gene who's asking, and he turns to look at me with furrowed eyebrows, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Regardless of how much I think about it or ask it, it's a question I still find incredibly difficult to answer. In truth, I don't know what I'm going to do about home, just like I don't know what I _want_ to do about home. Now that everything's over I find myself in a position I was never really supposed to be in: a survivor of the war.

"I'm not sure," I answer truthfully, turning to look back at Gene. I send him a shrug and a sad sort of smile. "I don't know what I'd say to my parents. I don't know how I'd react to seeing them, either. It's..." I sigh and look back out across the lake again. "It's all very overwhelming."

The lake has become somewhat of a safe place for me - there's consistency in the peace I find here where there isn't elsewhere. And it's always beautiful, too. Beams of sunshine waltz across the water, glittering like stars as it ripples; I'll forever be entranced by that. And the mountains which rise up on the opposite side of the water are breathtaking, strong and resolute, tall and snow-capped. I'll be sad to leave Austria, if I'm honest. Terribly sad.

Gene nods but doesn't say anything and I think hard about what I'm going to say next. Eventually, after working up the nerve, I turn to him. "Can I tell you a secret? Something I've not told any of the boys - not even Tom?"

He nods and smiles, that small smile he does every time I say or do something that shows him I trust him completely, and that gives me the push I need. I suck in a breath and nod to myself in encouragement. The words come out in the midst of an exhale. "I'm afraid to go home."

Gene's eyebrows draw together and I watch him thinking for a moment before he replies. "What do you mean?"

I sigh and clasp my hands together in my lap, trying to tie what I want to say into some semblance of coherence. "I'm not really sure how to explain it. It's just..." I pause to properly gather my thoughts before continuing, "I haven't seen my parents since I was sixteen. I'm twenty-three now, so they don't even know what I'm like as an adult. So, for one, I'm not sure at all how I'd act around them." He nods, so I go on, "Then there's also the fact that they think I'm dead - and have done for six years now. They've probably already mourned me and healed from that loss and I don't want to upset them or anything. And then there's also just..." Another exhausted sigh. "Just the fact that after everything that's happened I'm just scared that it'll - I don't know, be too much for me, I suppose. I don't want to break down again. I feel like I've been making so much progress in trying to move on that going back to London, to my life from so long ago, might just tear me apart. I'm just scared."

He's watching me carefully now, and closely. "You don't wanna go home?"

I shrug and look away. "Is that awful? I just feel like I need to keep on moving. My life for the past seven years has been about dealing with the present and forgetting that I ever even had a civilian life, and now I'm supposed to just forget everything and pretend none of it ever happened? I just -" I can feel tears starting to form in my eyes now, and shake my head to bid them to go away. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know if I can and I don't know if I want to." I risk a glance at him and chew on my bottom lip. "Is that horrible? It's horrible, isn't it? I should just go home."

Gene must see the tears pooling in my eyes - either that or he's just incredibly good at reading me, which is equally as likely - because he pulls me into his side and wraps his arms around me. I settle into his touch and rest my head on his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat calm me. Closing my eyes, I focus on the sound of his voice and the vibrations it causes in his chest. "You're too hard on yourself. You know that?"

I laugh a little bit because it's true. I think now that he's reading my confessions he's a lot more conscious of this fact and I think, as a result, I kind of am, too. I'm trying to work on giving myself a break (clearly with limited success) and Gene's definitely helping a lot; I'm endlessly grateful to him for that.

"No one's gonna force you to do anythin'. Alright?" he goes on. "You just gotta do whatever you think's best for you. For once in your life you gotta think about yourself and not worry about anyone else."

I nod and keep my eyes shut, tightening my arms around him. Pushing back those tears which just won't go away, I whisper, "I don't want you to go to the Pacific."

He laughs a little bit and presses a kiss to my hair. "I know."

"Are you scared?"

"Yeah," he admits quietly, which doesn't help my case where the tears are concerned.

Mostly to myself, I mumble, "Why do you have to live so far away?"

Gene doesn't reply immediately but after a short pause he clears his throat. "I, uh -" He hesitates and I can hear the nervousness in his voice. "I wanted to ask you somethin'."

I sit up properly so I can look at him and find him with a blush across his cheeks, looking out across the lake bashfully. I nod, knowing he's watching me in his periphery, and wait for him to continue. I have no idea why he's gotten so shy all of a sudden but it has me very intrigued about this question he wants to ask.

"I, uh," he stammers again, and then sighs and smiles slightly to himself. "I wanted to know if you might wanna..." His words falter so I take ahold of his hand, which seems to be the encouragement he needs. "Come home with me?" he finishes, risking a glance my way.

Needless to say, those tears I was holding back have fallen now. "What?" My voice emerges as a mere whisper but my lack of a proper answer gives him the wrong idea.

"You don't have to say yes. I don't want you to feel like you gotta say yes just 'cause I asked or nothin' but -"

I cut him off by throwing my arms around him and burying my face in the crook of his neck. "I want that so much," I tell him, smiling through the tears.

He hugs me back immediately. "You do?" The relief is evident in his voice and it just makes me hold on tighter.

I nod. "I want that more than anything."

I pull back from the hug to look at him but keep close, and he kisses me without a second thought. It has to end quickly, though, because we're both smiling so much.

"Do you really mean it?" I ask, searching his face for any sign of doubt or uncertainty. "You really want me to come home with you?"

"More than anythin'," he replies with a grin, echoing my own words back to me whilst he wipes away my tears. I laugh and hug him again because I'm filled with the overwhelming desire to be as close to him as I can get.

"You'd have to wait for me," he says into my hair, but there's a smile in his voice. "Stay in England, maybe, and then I'd come get you once I got back." There's no suggestion that he won't come back because there's no chance of it, either - not where I'm concerned, at least. If I lost him I'm certain I'd never recover, so it's a thought I don't even entertain.

"I'd wait for you forever," I confide, and smile when I feel him pull me closer.

"I love you," he says, and I really, truly know he means it.

So I pull back and kiss him, trying to show him how much I mean it, too. "I love you too," I tell him afterwards, a whisper when he rests his forehead against mine. I feel like my heart could burst. "Je t'aime."

He smiles. "Je t'aime mon amour."

When we head back to the hotel I feel like I'm in some kind of dream. I don't let the looming dark cloud of the Pacific linger - every time I look at Gene I forget about it anyway.

He has to leave after a little while to go and do some duty or other - inventory, probably, as it seems there's no shortage of inventory to be done where the US Army is concerned. When I go back to my room Tom's already in there. All it takes is one look at my face and he knows.

"He asked you, didn't he?"

I can't help but giggle. "How did you know?"

Tom smiles. "You said yes?"

"Of course I said yes," I reply, still positively beaming. "But how did you know?"

"He asked me," he replies simply, and now I think my heart really is about to burst. "He wanted my blessing and obviously I gave it. I've been waiting for him to ask you for about a week now."

I pull him into a hug, just because I feel like it, and he hugs me back with equal fervour. "I know he'll take care of you, and that's what I want most, but take care of yourself too, okay?"

I laugh and sniffle a little bit. "Why does this feel like goodbye?"

Tom laughs as well and hugs me tighter. "I don't know," but his voice is thick with tears too. "It isn't. Not yet."

Not yet. But it will be soon. The thought breaks my heart so much it's too much to bear.

"And even then, it won't be forever," I insist. I pull out of the hug and hold out my pinkie. "You promised, remember?"

He laughs again and nods, wiping his eyes before linking my pinkie with his. "It won't be forever. I promise."

All these conflicting emotions. How easy it is to become overwhelmed.

"I'm going to write," I tell him decisively.

Tom nods and goes back to sit on his bed so I take a seat at the desk and pick up where I left off with my confessions, which was the final mission.

In my determination to distract myself I end up writing all the way to now, and document the past day up to this very moment. Getting here and realising I've told my story almost in its entirety kind of makes me want to cry, too, so really I'm just an emotional wreck.

"Where are you up to?" Tom asks, obviously hearing my sniffling.

I laugh a little bit and wipe at my eyes. "Today. Right now. I just wrote out our conversation."

"Is that the end, then?" he asks, sitting up straight on the bed.

I turn in my chair and shoot him a soft smile, shaking my head. "No. No, it's not the end. Not yet."


	49. Than We Could Have Expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Destiny guides our fortunes more favourably than we could have expected." - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

A sunny day in Austria and we've been dragged out to play baseball, of all things. So bloody _American_. Well, I suppose I'm going to be living in the New World soon, may as well start getting acclimated now.

The Americans have the day off of training and sought us out when they found out so we can all play baseball, as they've been known to do in their free time (as if the training isn't intense enough). Being British, none of the four of us have the faintest of clues on how to play, but we go anyway.

A group of the yanks has been trying for about half an hour to explain the rules to us. Needless to say, we're struggling.

"It just sounds like rounders!" I insist, frowning.

Will nods. "I really don't see how this isn't just rounders with gloves."

"You only run if you hit it, I think," Tom supplies helpfully. Other than that, I don't see how it's different at all.

"Well, none of us has any fuckin' idea what 'rounders' is so why don't you play it like it's rounders and we'll play it like it's baseball and it'll all work out," Frank says, clearly getting frustrated with our lack of comprehension.

"I don't even like rounders," I mutter under my breath, kicking at the grass in front of me.

Gene laughs from beside me. "Come on, it's fun! You'll like it, I promise."

I can't say no to him and he knows it, so before I've even conceded he's grinning.

The team we're both on is fielding first - 'defending', I've been repeatedly told I'm supposed to call it, but really it's fielding - and it's very easy to grow irritated with the game whilst the sun is beating down on us as it is and it takes so long to get through everyone batting.

When Will steps up to bat I perk up. I grin and watch as he bats, misses the ball entirely, but runs anyway, as one would do in a game of rounders. This action is met with a cacophony of outcry.

"What the fuck is he doing?!"

"You're not supposed to run!"

"He didn't even hit it!"

"You only run if you hit it, Will, I told you that!" Tom calls out, but he's laughing just like I am.

Poor Will looks so confused looking between everyone shouting at him, so he heads back to try again. He's not any luckier this time, or the next (or the next) so he ends up just handing the bat off and retiring.

For my part, I don't really do much other than stand around and watch but at least no one shouts at me for it. When it's my team's turn to bat I'm positively dreading it and I push Gene in front of me so that he goes first.

"You scared?" he teases with a grin.

I roll my eyes but I'm smiling a bit. "I don't like this game. And it _is_ just bloody rounders with gloves."

Gene only laughs and watches Garcia bat, who hits the ball and runs immediately to first base. I watch him closely, and everyone who follows after him, desperately trying to work out exactly what I'm supposed to do so I don't mess it up.

When Gene's at the front of the line I'm nervous but he seems fine. He shoots me a smile when I wish him good luck and before I know it he's hit the ball and run.

"Oh! Yay!" I exclaim upon realising. I clap my hands together once and watch as he slides to first base right as Buck kneels on it. "Is that good?" I ask Frank, who's standing behind me. "Did he win?"

Frank scoffs. "No, he didn't _win_ , he -"

"Easy Company! School circle!" Captain Speirs calls. When I look behind me to where he's sitting on the hood of a jeep I find Winters and Nixon both heading over as well. A pit of dread opens up in my stomach that this could be it. This could be the moment they find out they're being deployed to the Pacific.

I head over to Tom and Will whilst Martin makes his way across the field towards us, glancing between them and the Americans taking their sweet time in gathering around Speirs.

"Lets go listen," Tom says.

Will frowns. "But we're not -"

"Will, does it matter?" Tom cuts him off, and I can't help but laugh.

When we get over there, lingering on the outside of the group, Winters is speaking. "This morning, President Truman received the unconditional surrender from the Japanese. War's over." He says it so casually, as though this doesn't change everything. 

I turn to Tom immediately, who's smiling so brightly his entire face is sharing in its joy, and he draws me into a quick hug. For him, it's good news, but he was going home anyway. He's happy, mostly, for me, because now I get to go home with Gene. Even still, I'm glad that I spend the first few moments of global peacetime in Tom's arms. We really and truly have been through it all together.

When we pull apart he turns me around by my shoulders and I find Gene heading towards me with perhaps the biggest smile I've ever seen from him on his face. I can't help but beam back. Meeting him halfway, I run towards him and he picks me up and spins me in a circle, which makes me laugh.

After he sets me back down I really can't stop smiling. "I'm coming home with you," I say, just to say it, and he laughs.

"Damn right you are."

Everyone heads back to the hotel directly - with that news no one really feels like playing baseball anymore. Walking back with Gene's arm around my shoulders and my arms around his waist, I take a moment to watch all of the men in front of us. I've known them a long time now - just under two years, but two years in wartime is about six in civilian life. Each and every single one of them occupies a very special place in my heart. I'm glad they're all going to go home.

The enlisted men decide that they're going to celebrate VJ-Day much the same as how we all celebrated VE-Day; getting wasted. Everyone needs to shower first though, and after mine I put on my ODs for what is perhaps the final time. I could wear the dress I got sent by the SOE but I kind of want to spend one final night as one of them, an honourary member of Easy Company.

We all gather by the lake and somehow the yanks have managed to scrounge together what looks like every single bottle of alcohol in Austria.

High on emotion and the knowledge that everyone's going home, it doesn't take anyone very long to start feeling the effects of the alcohol. But it's strange, this time around; there are a lot of people missing, even more so than there were on VE-Day. Winters has sent Malarkey to Paris (in what was a ploy to prevent him from going to the Pacific), Shifty's in hospital and so is Chuck, and beyond them, Bill and Toye, still recovering from losing their legs, Skip and Penkala, who didn't make it out of Belgium, and so, so many more people - too many to list. 

And Noah and Alex, who also never got to see the peacetime they helped to bring about. There are so many people who died to get us here, to this moment - too many to even comprehend - but I feel Noah and Alex's absence the most.

Beyond anything else, I wish I had a way to tell Alex that we did it, that everything's over and the four of us all made it to the end. I know he'd be proud of us for that. God, I still miss him so much.

"What are you thinking about?" Tom asks, coming to sit beside me on the grass.

I laugh a little bit and take a sip from the bottle I'm holding. "Alex," I say after a beat. "And the others, too. But I wish there was a way we could tell Alex that we did it."

Tom smiles back at me. "He'd be proud."

I lean into him and laugh a little bit, just because. "I'm proud too."

"Me as well," he adds, his smile audible in his words.

Martin and Will join us a little while later and we finish off our bottles together, laughing and reminiscing on old times. For right now, this very second, spent in the middle of the night by a lake in Austria with the best people I've ever known, I remember what it feels like to be completely and entirely happy. Through everything, I'm happy. And I have no idea how we all got here but I'm so grateful that we did. I'm so grateful for everything.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the yanks plotting something because they're all banding together and snickering about whatever mischief they're about to cause. This makes me smile because even though everyone's changed so much, in some ways we haven't really changed at all.

Floyd, George, Babe, and Skinny come over and each of them pulls one of us up off of the ground without any explanation. Floyd pulls me up with so much enthusiasm I end up crashing into him and I laugh as I pull back.

"What have you been plotting?" I ask, turning primarily to George, mischief maker as he is.

George merely winks back at me. "Just follow us."

I share a look with Tom, Will, and Martin but we follow the yanks anyway. We end up all squashing together on the small dock that extends out into the lake. Then someone at the front decides it's time to go and we're all running and jumping off, only one word on everyone's lips.

"Currahee!"


	50. You May Contribute A Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That you are here - that life exists and identity,  
> That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."  
> \- Walt Whitman, O Me! O Life!

Before I can even blink we're back in Aldbourne. Back where it all began. Kind of. I like to think this is where it began - it's not, obviously; we have four years of experience in the field and a further year of training before that which prologue it, but it feels like that was the beginning. The beginning of the end, I suppose.

Our house back in Aldbourne - the house I have come to consider a home, because even though it's full of sad memories it's also full of happy ones, just like all true homes are - has been left alone for us. No one has been in it since we left and everything's exactly as we left it. Stepping foot back in that living room makes me burst into tears, though I can hardly say why.

So many nights spent in that living room getting drunk off of whatever we could find. So many days spent discussing whatever we could distract ourselves with. And in the kitchen, so many culinary nightmares when Will and I would try to cook. And in my bedroom, Tom sitting with me until the early hours of the morning so I wouldn't feel alone when I fell asleep. And Alex's room, which is still exactly as he left it.

We all collectively decide to send as much of Alex's stuff as possible to his mum. I like to think that's what he would have wanted.

Two whole years since we first arrived in Aldbourne. I feel like we've hardly spent any time here, really, for the majority of those two years, but a really significant part of my heart is here, and here it will stay.

It's Martin who leaves first. He's heading back up north and I knew this day would come but it is _so, so hard_. I can't even say how hard it is. I love him so much.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" he says to me. When I see the tears in his eyes I start to weep.

"I will," I promise, burrowing into his chest as though if I nuzzle myself close enough he won't be able to go. "Take care of yourself, too," I say, and he laughs. Martin and I always did it together, the stuff in the field. He has always been right behind me, bailing me out of danger. God, this is absolutely too hard.

"I will." He pulls back to look at me and doesn't even bother to hide his tears. That's how I know he's truly upset to say goodbye, too. "Thank you. For everything. I know you think I was always looking out for you, and I was, but you were always looking out for me, too."

I smile through the tears. "We did it together," I agree, and he laughs a little bit.

"Stay in touch, okay?" he says and now I'm sobbing again. "I want to know all about your new life in America."

"I will," I repeat, laughing a bit into the fabric of his jacket. "I promise I will. Write to me too, though."

"Of course," he says. He gives me one final squeeze and pulls back. I have to press a hand against my mouth to stop myself from blubbing so loudly. I've never been any good at goodbyes.

He's already said goodbye to Tom so the only person left is Will, who is in a puddle of his own tears. Will, who is to Martin what Tom is to me. Those two people who are so incredibly, wildly different but who have found in each other friendship in one of its purest forms. Even watching them say goodbye makes me feel worse so I have to turn away.

"I love you all," Martin says after he's put his bags in the boot of the car. He's wiping furiously at his eyes as he turns back to us, all standing outside of the house and crying buckets. "I love each and every single one of you buggers more than you'll ever know."

"We love you too!" I shout back to him.

I put my arms around Tom and Will and they put their arms around me. Martin shoots us one final smile and salutes before getting into the car.

Then we're a three, physically, but a six in spirit. Always a six in spirit.

It's Will who goes next. He decided to write to his parents the moment we set foot back on home soil and his parents, who are very much alive, can't wait to see him. They haven't seen him since he was eighteen but I know they'll be so proud of the man he's become. It would be impossible not to be.

We gather in the living room, just as we did with Martin before his car arrived, and his bags are all around him. The sight of everything packed up like that really does break me.

"Come here, you," Tom says as soon as he comes down, and grabs Will into a fierce hug.

Will, always just as bad as I am at hiding his emotions, is crying like a baby. But so am I.

"I'm going to miss you both so much," he chokes out, and I laugh a little bit. His face is all red and blotchy and he's covered in tears but he's so Will. I love everything about him.

When he pulls back from Tom I don't even give him time to pause for breath before I throw my arms around him. I hold him so tight it's probably painful but he doesn't complain - he never has.

He pulls back and tries his very best to muster a smile. "Jules," he begins, then turns around to pick something up. When he turns back to me he's holding his briefcase radio. "I want you to have this."

"Oh, Will," I choke out and start to cry so much I can't even see. Will laughs even though he's crying just as much, and wipes at his eyes so he can carry on talking.

"Whenever you feel sad or anxious just take it apart and put it back together, okay?"

I nod. "I will. I'll think of you every time I do it."

He laughs a little bit and sniffles. "Please do."

"I don't have anything to give you in return," I say, and the thought is so much sadder than I can even fathom.

Will shakes his head and tries to smile. "Your friendship is enough."

Will, with the absolute kindest heart in the world. I love him so much.

Tom and I stay a few extra days and the house is incredibly quiet with just the two of us. Gene comes around quite a lot, and he stays the night sometimes, but he wanted to spend his last few days as a paratrooper with the rest of the men. When he told me that it made me smile; he's finally letting himself close to them.

Gene makes sure to stay the night after Tom goes. He didn't say that's why he's staying the night but I know that's why he is. We're due to head off to America in two days but Tom stayed in Aldbourne as long as he could so that he would only have to say goodbye at the very last minute. But we have to say it eventually.

We're in the living room waiting for his car to turn up with all of his bags around us, just like we were for Will and Martin, who I miss so sorely.

"Take care of her, okay?" Tom says to Gene. He surprises me when he pulls him into a hug, but it makes my heart smile. The two men I love most in the world. God, I'm crying already.

"I will," Gene promises.

When they pull apart Tom pats him on the shoulder and gives him a smile and a nod. "I know. I wouldn't let her go with you if I thought you wouldn't."

They both share a smile and then Gene gives my hand a squeeze before heading upstairs to leave us to it. Tom and I wait until my bedroom door closes before he turns to me.

"Well, Jules," he says, tears already pooling in his eyes, "looks like this is it."

"No it isn't," I say, shaking my head and fighting to hold back the tears. "Don't say that. It isn't. You promised -" A sob cuts me off and he pulls me into a hug.

"I know," he says, rubbing my back, but I can hear him crying too. "I know. It's not forever. It'll never be goodbye forever."

"Tom -" I manage to choke out. I hold on to him tighter at the same time as he does the same to me.

"Jules, it's not forever," he insists, but I can't stop crying.

"I don't want you to go."

"It's not forever."

Each time he says it I swear I start sobbing harder.

"Promise you'll write."

"You'll know every single detail of my life just like you do now, I promise," he vows, voice breaking from the tears.

I really can feel my heart shattering. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without him.

He pulls back and holds me at arms length, and just like I am he is absolutely covered in tears. "I love you and I'm _so_ proud of you. You're my best friend in the whole world and I couldn't have done it without you."

"You're my brother," I tell him, and have to pause because I'm crying so hard. "You're my family. I need you to know that. And I love you so much. _So much._ You'll never know how much."

He hugs me again and I know that this is about to be it. So I tell him what I need to tell him, what I've been needing to tell him, "I don't regret it. I don't regret it and I wouldn't change any of it and if I had to do it all over again I would if it meant I'd get to keep you."

"Jules -" he says, but his voice breaks. I really don't want to say goodbye.

"I mean it," I tell him, even though I know he knows I do.

"I know," he says with a smile through the tears. He takes ahold of both of my hands and gives them a squeeze. "It's not goodbye forever, okay?"

I nod, sniffling and trying to pull myself together. "Okay."

He smiles again, and it makes me want to smile back. "You and me, yeah?" he says.

I really can't stop crying. But even through the tears I nod. "Me and you."

When I hear the car pull up outside I let out a heart-wrenching sob and throw myself at him again.

"Jules -" he chokes out.

I can't even take this.

"Come visit," I plead, sniffling every few seconds. "And I'll come visit you."

"I will," he says, burying his face in my shoulder. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you so much," I reply.

Then there's a knock at the door.

"Don't come outside," he tells me, still holding on so tight. "Go sit with Gene, okay?"

"Is that a direct order?" I tease with a small laugh, hugging him even tighter.

I feel him nod and hear him laugh. "Yes. My final one."

He squeezes me a final time and I squeeze him too and then we pull back and just look at each other, thoroughly drowning in tears.

A knock sounds at the door again and he gestures with his head up the stairs. "Go. I'll see you soon."

"Not goodbye forever," I remind him, and squeeze his hand.

He nods, squeezing it back. "Never goodbye forever."

I head upstairs and sit in Gene's arms as I listen to the car drive away. And I sob my little heart out, I really do. And I'm absolutely filled with sadness, such intense pain, because I miss them all so much already. Martin and Will and Tom, who I've been through it all with.

But above all, I'm also happy. I'm proud. And I am dead humbled to have been in the company of people who are so incredibly brave, and strong, and resilient, and kind. I truly have no idea what I did to deserve my place among them but I'm endlessly grateful for whatever it was now. In spite of all of the ups and the downs, the war made me find them. This whole time I've been right where I belonged.


	51. Epilogue

Jules,

I wrote this out literally ten minutes after it happened (as soon as I got back to my hotel room so don't complain). I've transcribed it to the very best of my ability - in the third person, like you always did - and promise that everything in here actually did happen. I'm no poet like yourself but I hope it meets your standard and earns its rightful place at the end of your 'confessions' (when you eventually get them back). I tried my best so I think it deserves to be there. Just saying. It's your choice but if it was up to me it'd be there. Anyway, here it is:

Thomas Hughes, a devilishly handsome, charming, and humble young man, had to halt in his place on the doorstep. Seeing this, the place where she'd lived before the war, was almost overwhelming. The Jules who had once lived here had been a very different person - she had, after all, left home at sixteen to become a code-breaker, which was when he'd met her. She was twenty-four now. Twenty-four, a retired spy, and a survivor of Gestapo interrogation.

The stack of paper weighed heavily in his left hand as he lifted his right to knock.

The door swung inwards on a woman who looked exactly like Jules, only older. She had the same mass of brunette curls (beginning to grey with time and, perhaps, stress), the same soft features, the same kind smile. She was a spitting image, except for the bright blue eyes Jules had always described with such admiration - 'the brightest blue eyes you've ever seen' Jules had always said. She was right.

Jules had always described her mother as the most beautiful person in the world, and she was indeed very beautiful. He just thought it was a shame that she had thought she looked nothing like her - that she hadn't seen that same delicate beauty in herself. Jules was just like that, though; she never saw in herself what others did.

"Hello, there," Jules' mother greeted, her voice soft and lilting. "Can I help you at all?"

She spoke like Jules too.

"Yeah. Yes. Hi," Tom replied, trying to get himself back under control. "I'm, uh..." How to go about this? She thought Jules had been dead for seven years. In the end, he decided to just go for it. "I'm a friend of Juliette's."

The woman gasped. Her eyes fell shut instantly and a hand came up to press against her heart. It made him want to cry, but he didn't. He rushed to continue, "I thought you may want to know some things about her. Some things you haven't been told."

"I'm not sure I understand," the woman managed to whisper. When she opened her eyes, they were shining with tears.

Tom held up the stack of paper. "Jules wrote this. It spans exactly what she experienced from the September of 1943 to the end of the war."

"I don't - but she's -" The woman cut herself off. Her eyes visibly widened in shock and her jaw fell open as she caught sight of the first page. "That's her handwriting."

Tom nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I know."

The woman peeked back up at him and sniffled, pulling herself upright in one fell swoop and appearing once more that same elegant woman he'd first come upon. "Would you like to come in?"

Jules' childhood home was almost as 'quintessentially British' (as she had described it) as their house in Aldbourne had been. A large fireplace dominated the east wall of the living room, framed photographs lined up on top of it. Tom went over without even realising he was doing it and picked up one of Jules and a boy who looked quite like her.

"That was the last photograph we got of her," her mother explained quietly. "That's Juliette and her brother, Eliott, just before she left. Eliott died a little bit over a year ago."

Tom placed it gently back down and turned to face Jules' mother, who had taken a seat on the sofa. "Was he a pilot?" he asked. Jules had always liked to imagine her brother was a pilot.

Her mother smiled sadly. "He was a paratrooper."

Tom smiled back, though without the melancholy. "We were paratroopers for a period of time," he admitted, coming to sit beside the woman on the sofa. "Jules and I. And the rest of our team."

The woman shook her head. "I don't understand."

Tom nodded and took a deep breath to steel himself. "I'm Thomas. I was a code-breaker with Juliette back in 1938. We were promoted together, and trained together, and then worked together in the field for the entirety of the war." He paused and took ahold of the woman's hand gently. "We were spies together."

The woman clapped her other hand over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. "She - you - I don't -"

Tom smiled softly. "I know it's a lot to take in but I think it'd probably be better if you heard about it from Jules herself." He handed over the stack of paper. The woman took it tentatively, still trying desperately not to cry. "Not everything is in there. We worked constantly between 1939 and 1943, but she only starts writing from the September of '43 onwards. Still, I thought you might like to hear it in her words, and from her perspective. She mentions you a few times."

"She does?"

Tom nodded, having to work hard to swallow the lump in his throat. "Yeah."

"Is she -" Jules' mother began, and then had to bite onto her thumbnail to stop herself from crying. "Is she gone?"

Tom smiled in spite of the (rather morbid) question. "No. She's not here - not in England, that is. She's needed time to heal, and you'll find out why when you read it. She sent me in her place to deliver this. And I have something to ask you."

"You do?"

He nodded. He was smiling wider now and a few tears managed to slip out of his eyes. "Jules would like to know whether you would come to her wedding."

Jules' mother let out a huge sob and threw her arms around Tom, just like Jules always did. He laughed a little bit as he hugged her back; he guessed those enthusiastic hugs ran in the family.

"She's getting married?" her mother managed to choke out, her voice thick with tears.

Tom nodded. "Yes. In America, which is where she lives now. We spent our war years working all across Europe. She hopes that by reading what she wrote you'll understand why she decided she couldn't come back home."

Jules' mother pulled back and wiped furiously at her eyes to regain some composure. "Is she happy?"

The stack of paper was lying haphazardly in the woman's lap, so Tom took it back to make sure it didn't get mixed up.

He laughed and nodded, wiping away his own tears. "Yes. She's very happy. The man she's marrying is mentioned throughout what she wrote, so you'll get to know him in there, too. His name is Eugene Roe, but she always calls him Gene."

"And he treats her well?"

Tom smiled entirely earnestly. "If I could've handpicked a man for my best friend to marry it would've been him."

The woman smiled even wider. "You're her best friend, then?"

He laughed a little bit to himself, nodding. "I'm going to America, too. Tried living apart - didn't work very well. We're two halves of a whole, so I'm going to live near her."

The woman was positively beaming. "I'm Florence, by the way. Very pleased to meet you."

"Very pleased to meet you, too," Tom replied, shaking her dainty outstretched hand. He smiled. "She's so much like you."

"She is?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah. She's twenty-four, now."

The woman smiled, teary-eyed once more. "I haven't seen her since she was sixteen."

Before Tom could reply a man walked through the front door. He was tall and dark with those brown eyes he'd recognise anywhere. Without even having to be told, Tom knew it was Jules' father.

"Florence?" he asked upon entering the living room. His eyes flicked between his wife and Tom, eyebrows drawn sharply together and hands in his pockets. "Qui est-ce?"

"This is Thomas," the woman, Florence, explained, seeming unable to contain her smile. "He's Juliette's best friend."

The man's eyes darkened. "Juliette is -"

"Juliette is very much alive," Tom cut him off, trying to be as polite and gentle as he could be with the startling revelation. He held up the stack of paper. "I could explain, but Jules wanted you to hear it from her. This documents what she experienced from the September of 1943 to the end of the war, in her words, and her handwriting, from her perspective. She wanted you to know everything."

"You're lying," the man protested.

Florence hopped to her feet. "It really is her handwriting," she insisted gently. The man's eyes softened as he looked at his wife. "He says she's alive and she lives in America. And she wants to know whether we'll come to her wedding."

"She's getting married?" Jules' father asked, dumbfounded. Even he had tears in his eyes now.

When the man's gaze landed on Tom, he nodded. "She wrote a lot about her fiancé, too. How they met and so on. His name is Eugene Roe, though it wouldn't take you long to work out it was him she fell in love with regardless. She was head over heels from the moment they met."

Florence turned teary eyes back on Tom. "Really?"

He laughed a little bit, recalling their time in Aldbourne fondly. "Yes."

Tom stood up to allow for Jules' father to sit beside his wife. He handed the stack of paper to him carefully and watched as the man ran gentle fingers over the writing, in awe. He obviously recognised the handwriting too.

Tom smiled to himself. "I'll leave you to read it but my contact details are written on the back - so you know where to find me to give me your answer. I can organise transport and everything else if you decide you want to come, so don't worry about that, but you should read it first. I'll be in England for the next two weeks so you can take your time with it - I'll come back if I don't hear from you until then, if you don't mind." He tucked his hands into his pockets and chuckled a little bit, offering half a shrug of his shoulders. "She really wants you to come."

Both of Jules' parents offered their thanks and Florence led Tom to the door. Once he was on the doorstep he turned around and she gave him a most sincere smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Thomas. You really have no idea what you've given us."

Tom smiled softly. "It's not easy reading, what she's written, but I hope you'll stick with it. She wrote it all out incredibly accurately."

Florence nodded and drew Thomas into a tight hug. "Thank you for looking after her all this time."

Tom grinned and ran a hand through his hair once they'd pulled back. "She looked after me, too," he confessed. He let out a small laugh and smiled to himself. "We all looked after each other."

Florence gave Tom's shoulder a squeeze and watched as he disappeared from sight. When she came back into the living room Jules' father was still staring at the front of the stack of paper, in a state of dazed awe. When his wife sat down beside him again he looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

Jules' parents held the stack of paper between them, and together, they began to read.

_"Juliette Chevalier was good at her job, for both better and worse."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note in next chapter!


	52. A Final Note from Your Author

Thank you, thank you, thank you! To everyone who has followed Jules' journey and rooted for her and especially to everyone who has been so kind in comments and messages. Just like Jules said, I am 'dead humbled' to have gotten such a warm response. I really can't thank you enough. 

I don't have much to say beyond my overwhelming need to express my gratitude, but I also want to say that I hope the ending is what you hoped it'd be. I toyed with different ideas relentlessly and ended up doing a complete 180 at one point because I just wasn't sure, but I think I'm rather happy with it, so I truly hope you are too.

So I suppose that's it, really. After such a journey there isn't really anything else to say. But, once more, (because I simply can't help myself) thank you! Thank you for your support, and your votes, and your comments, and your messages. And, above all, thank you for loving my characters (almost) as dearly as I love them myself; those four and their friendship have carved out for themselves a very special place in my heart and I thank you sincerely for having let them live in yours, too, for a while.

Thank you!

\- Isobel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also you can find me on tumblr under starcrossed-writing (main BoB account pxpeyewynn) so please do shoot me a message if you fancy it!


	53. Deleted Scene: After Juliette's Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! surprise! i've been suffering from a severe case of writers' block in the last few weeks so i decided to revisit my last work for a bit to get the creative juices flowing again (i hate that phrase i'm so sorry i used it). anyway, this takes place just after jules gets caught by the gestapo so i hope you enjoy getting to be in tom's head for a bit. also please let me know of any other deleted scenes/post war things you might be interested in reading because whilst i'm at it we may as well do a few of them (you can find me on tumblr most often at pxpeyewynn if you'd prefer to anon). anyway, thanks for reading!!! <3

Tom, Will, and Martin had been walking for days that felt like weeks. They had been glancing cautiously over both shoulders for weeks that felt like months; one glance over the first shoulder to check for any Gestapo guards or Wehrmacht soldiers and another over the second in a desperate, though futile, search for Juliette.

It had been just under a week since her capture and it'd passed both rapidly, a hazy blur of days which blended into each other, and torturously slowly, each day seeming to drag on until a mere twenty-four hours lasted an entire year. Thinking about her still made Tom's eyes fill with tears, but he didn't mind so much because thinking about her meant he was constantly reminding himself that they would come back for her. He would come back for her. He would die trying if he had to.

He couldn't believe he had ever left her behind in the first place.

Perhaps he should have shot her. That's what he'd thought in the moment - that terrible, terrible few seconds where his world seemed to pause and then crash down around him as he saw her getting hauled into the back of an unmarked truck. But now he knew unreservedly that he should have gone with her instead. He should have given himself up as well if only so that she wasn't alone.

She was alone. Jules, who he had vowed to protect to his final breath, was alone and he hadn't saved her. He was drowning in self-loathing, couldn't even bear to crack a smile. It was all his fault.

The trio - _should be a quartet,_ Tom snapped bitterly to himself, _should absolutely always be a quartet_ \- came upon Easy Company in some small Dutch town or other. Tom could feel the pressure of a hundred eyes on him as he traipsed through their makeshift camp and led his two remaining team members straight to Winters. He kept his chin firmly tilted skyward and his shoulders back, leading fearlessly from the front because that's what leaders did, though he wanted to do nothing more than collapse to the floor and sob. He had been leading for weeks with the silent knowledge that he was to blame for Juliette's capture and he was sick of it. _Let someone else lead. Let someone else carry the burden of holding lives in their hands. Just bloody take it away from me._

But he led from the front anyway. There was nothing else he could do.

He relayed his orders from the SOE to Winters as concisely as he could manage, words emerging distant and reserved, even indifferent, perhaps, to the untrained ear. It didn't even sound like his own voice.

Winters, of course, accepted these new orders and gave Tom a nod, a kind smile, and a firm pat on the shoulder. "I'll organise some ODs and gear for you three. Go get set up somewhere and rest." He offered the younger man another smile. "You look like you need it."

Rest. They certainly did need it. Tom felt like he could rest for years and still be exhausted. He was tired down to his soul, drained and torn apart and traumatised. But every time he began to pity himself his mind traitorously reminded him of where Juliette was at that exact moment and it tore his heart to pieces just enough to remind him to keep his chin up, shoulders back, and lead from the front. They wouldn't get Juliette back without a leader.

Tom didn't let his eyes stray once from the ground ahead of him as he wordlessly led Will and Martin back through the spread out paratroopers. He led from the front until they came upon a tree, wherein his body decided he had had enough and collapsed out from under him. He sat sprawled against the tree, eyes shut against the world.

He heard rather than felt Will and Martin sit on either side of him, forming some sort of protective barrier, perhaps, but kept his eyes firmly shut. He was sick of looking at a world without his best friend in it. He willed himself to fall asleep.

"Hey! Tom!"

He pretended to sleep even as the voice that had called out to him grew steadily nearer.

"Tom! Hey, Tom! Whatcha doin' here? Thought you had orders -"

"Orders change, Bill," Tom replied coldly. Then he sighed, opened his eyes, and took a deep breath to try again. "It's not safe to be a spy in Holland right now so we've been ordered to hide with you lot."

"Well," Bill began levelly, clearly somewhat at a loss for how to reply to that, "I'm glad you're here. Hope you enjoy your stay."

Tom mustered whatever dregs of a smile he could force onto his face. "Thanks, Bill."

Joe Toye, who had approached alongside him, offered a pitying smile which told Tom he'd noticed Jules' absence. He closed his eyes again.

"Hey! What are you guys doin' back so soon?!"

Unmistakably George Luz. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Hey, guys! Tom and the others are back!" George called immediately. A small group gathered before the trio could act to prevent it.

Distantly, Tom could hear Will forcing small talk, perhaps an attempt to distract the prying yanks from the absence of one of their team members. The inevitable, however, was not long in barging its way through the cloudy abyss of panicked thoughts.

"Where's Juliette?" This from Eugene Roe. Gene, as Jules had exclusively called him. How was he supposed to tell Gene what had happened? What he'd done? Or not done, as the case may be.

A stagnant pause settled over the group, the only sounds the chirping crickets beginning their evening recitals. _Jules would've thought it's pretty here,_ Tom thought bitterly. _The soft yellow sunset, the stars just beginning to appear. She would've liked it here._

Will cleared his throat in a rushed, desperate search for words. Martin shuffled so vigorously his movement was audible. Tom screwed his eyes shut tighter.

"Jules is -" Will began. Tom could feel Will's cautious eyes on him.

"She's been caught," Tom interjected, the words riding a withdrawn exhale. Best just to rip the plaster off, he'd decided.

"Caught?" Bill echoed, a note of incredulity in his voice. "What the hell d'ya mean 'caught'?"

"Caught by who?" added George.

"By the Gestapo."

"What the fuck do you mean, 'caught by the Gestapo'?" demanded Johnny Martin. He hadn't been especially close to Juliette but Tom recognised him to be fiercely loyal to those he liked, and apparently Jules had somehow managed to find herself on that exclusive list.

"Double agents," Martin explained. He was staring at the grass beneath him with cold, hardened eyes. He had little patience at the best of times but at this particular moment he was about ready to snap.

"She was walking into a trap," added Will. His voice was strained and eerily quiet but in the silence that had fallen he was heard loud and clear.

"Where is she?" Gene asked sotto voce. When Tom risked a glance up at him he had his eyes set firmly on Tom, begging for answers he didn't have and hope he couldn't spare.

"I don't know." Tom's voice emerged as half a whisper and half a sob. He sucked in a steadying breath to get himself back under control. "She was going in to get information on where they were transferring prisoners to. She never got it. Or maybe she did and they took it from her. I don't know." He had to shut his eyes again. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

"What will they do to her?" Floyd asked. His eyes were on Will, perhaps seeking him out as the most likely to disclose this information.

"Will they kill her?" This time it was Skinny.

David Webster shook his head. "No. Under the Geneva Convention, if she tells them her rank they can't -"

"The Geneva Convention doesn't apply to us," Martin snapped. "She was caught undercover in occupied territory looking for enemy intelligence. She's a spy. The Geneva Convention doesn't mean fuck all."

"Then what?" Webster asked quietly, voice sobered. He looked every bit a young schoolboy who had just been told off by a teacher he'd rather liked. "You think they _will_ kill her?"

"You barely even fuckin' knew her, Webster, back off," Bill spat, eyes ablaze.

"No," Tom replied evenly, ignoring the interjection and avoiding the weight of Gene's piercing eyes on him, "I don't think they'll kill her..." He sighed. "Yet. I think they'll torture her until they drag every last bit of information out of her. And then torture her some more until they're sure that she's confessed everything. And then maybe a bit more just for fun. And then, and only then, do I think they'll kill her."

At some point during the silence that followed Gene had decided to leave. Tom didn't know when, exactly, he'd left, or where he'd gone, but suddenly he really regretted the harshness of his words. When he glanced at Will he regretted them even more, for the younger man was trying in vain to force back the tears in his eyes and was chewing viciously onto his bottom lip in the process.

Tom shook his head. A leader had to be optimistic and so optimistic they led their team to believe it was realism. He couldn't go around talking like that because he was the commanding officer now and commanding officers didn't get to feel things. Commanding officers did their jobs: they made the plans, they called the shots, they led from the front. Those harsh words had been a lapse in judgement and now he needed to make amends for them.

Tom spared a glance at Martin, who sent him a nod to assure him he'd take care of Will, and then set off in search of the medic he knew Jules was so fond of. He vowed then and there that he would keep an eye on Gene, just until Jules was present to do it herself. Because she would be. Whether it took him days, weeks, months, or years, Tom was going to get Jules back. There was no doubt in his mind. But until then he would try his very best to do what he thought she would want him to do in her absence.

He came upon Gene sitting atop a small hill a little ways away from the main area that had been set up as camp for the night. His back was to Tom, his silhouette the only thing discernible from this distance, outlined by the steadily dying light from the sunset and the relentless gnats encircling his frame.

"Eugene," he called out softly once he was certain he was close enough to be heard.

To his credit, the medic didn't flinch. But he didn't spare a glance back either.

Tom was trepidatious in his subsequent approach, making sure he wasn't about to be rejected before lowering himself to the ground beside Gene. Once he was seated, the pair of them sat in a charged silence punctuated by unsteady breaths and the uncertain sideways darting of eyes.

Eventually, Gene asked, "She's really gone?" His voice emerged hoarse though he didn't clear his throat to rectify it. Tom could see him glancing at him in his periphery as he awaited a response.

"Yeah," seemed to be all Tom could muster in reply. After a few moments' pause he went on, "Gene -" but found himself cut off.

"You don't gotta apologise for nothin', if that's what you're about to do." Tom's surprise must have shown on his face, for Gene chuckled under his breath, though the laugh was audibly strained.

Tom nodded and held his breath in preparation for his next confession. "I should've gone with her."

Gene shook his head immediately. "She wouldn't've wanted you to."

"She shouldn't be alone."

"It'd only tear her up worse if she knew you were sufferin' too."

He was right, of course, though it didn't work to ease the guilt by much. Still, a small weight felt as though it had been lifted from Tom's shoulders. He wondered briefly whether that was one of the reasons why Jules was so fond of Gene; he made you want to confess everything but in a way that alleviated some of the weight. He didn't want to pry, he wanted to share the burden. As such, he wondered how much Gene really knew about Jules and her life, how much she had disclosed about the things that bothered her and the things that made her tick.

Judging by how Gene was staring coldly forwards, eyes unfocused and perhaps instead watching memories unknown to anyone but him, he thought that the pair of them had known each other better than he'd initially assumed.

"I'm sorry," Tom said, because he felt the overwhelming need to say it. He felt like he owed Gene an apology because it should've been Jules sat there with him, talking about Tom's capture, and not the other way around.

"She learn that from you?" Gene asked through a quiet, rueful laugh. "Apologisin' all the time?" He shook his head and got to work removing and then lighting a cigarette. "I don't even think she knew she was doin' it but she used to apologise for everythin'." He paused, inhaled a large breath of smoke, and then let it all out along with his words. "Maybe she could'a done with apologisin' to herself once in a while."

Tom nodded and laughed bitterly. "She's always been hard on herself. She thinks about things she's done, decisions she's made, for weeks afterwards, always making herself feel guilty for something or other."

Gene nodded. He had obviously noticed that in her too.

"You know," Tom began, tugging at the grass beneath him, "she bullied herself into avoiding you back in Aldbourne." He shook his head to himself, smiling with a sort of regretful irony as he recalled the short period of time in which romantic entanglements had been Juliette's primary concern. "She tried to punish herself by staying away from you. She never told me that - not explicitly, anyway - but I could tell. And she thought you deserved better than her. That she did say in those exact words."

When Tom glanced over at him, Gene shook his head, his eyes focused straight forwards. "I miss her."

Tears sprang to Tom's eyes immediately. He nodded. "Me too."

Gene finally looked over at Tom and squinted through the growing darkness to see him. Tom met his gaze with less reserve now, more at ease knowing they shared somewhat of a similar burden.

Gene's eyes glowed bright in the low lighting, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn into a frown. "You gonna try and get her back?"

Tom sucked in a deep breath and looked towards the pale yellow sky in front of him, bidding himself to believe his next words.

"No, I'm _going_ to get her back, even if it kills me."


	54. Deleted Scene: Juliette's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this very quickly and spontaneously last night. Felt like writing my boys again. This one takes place in Bastogne. Much love! <3

The first of January, 1945. Tom could hardly believe he was still alive. Each New Year's Day was a blessing but this one didn't much feel like it. Last New Year's Day their trio had been a quintet. How had they gone from five to three in just a year? Even worse, this year would be the first time since meeting her that he wouldn't be celebrating Juliette's birthday with her.

She was now twenty-three. It seemed strange to think it. He tended to forget how young she was, especially with all of the weight on her shoulders and how she always seemed to just _bear_ it. All that responsibility and yes, she'd shed a few tears from time to time, but she always just got on with it after that.

He wondered, not for the first time, how she was bearing this. The Gestapo. Interrogation. Torture.

It was Will who pulled him back from the edge of his spiralling thoughts.

"Happy New Year, Tom," he said, voice quiet but face ever-smiling. He was another one who always just got on with it.

Tom looked up at him where he was crouched on the edge of his foxhole, arms crossed tightly across his upper body in a bid to salvage whatever dwindling body heat he had managed to retain. Looking at him there, burrowed into his clothing but still smiling so brightly that even his eyes were squinted, Tom couldn't help but smile back. "Happy New Year, Will."

"Can I come in?"

Tom laughed. "You don't have to ask, you silly bugger. Get in here."

Will laughed too, though the sound emerged muffled through his scarf, before he dropped down into the foxhole and settled himself back into the dirt beside Tom. Whilst it was a tight fit, at least the presence of another body raised the temperature a tad. Tom swore he had never been so cold. British winters seemed warm in comparison to this - yet another nostalgic dream of the past he longed for so desperately it sometimes felt as though he couldn't breathe.

"Days at school feel dead long ago now, don't they?" Will spoke into the silence, as though reading his mind.

When Tom glanced sideways at him he found Will's big brown eyes already on him, curious and owl-like. Again, he couldn't help but laugh; even when so much had changed, Will would always be Will.

"Yeah," Tom replied eventually, still laughing to himself. "Yeah, a lifetime ago," he agreed.

"Never thought I'd end up doing this," Will added mindlessly.

"What?" Tom answered, a smirk on his lips as he glanced at him once. "Crouching next to me in a hole in the ground in Belgium? I've been dreaming about this moment since I was a little boy, me."

Will laughed brightly and shook his head. "I mean being a spy." He hesitated and locked his eyes on the wall of dirt opposite him before adding quietly, "I know I don't do anything dangerous or, really, as important as the rest of you, but I'm really proud to be part of this team. I don't know if I've ever told you that." He sighed. "I wish I'd have said it back when everyone was still here."

Tom scoffed. "Will, you think you're not as important as the rest of us?" His tone revealed his disbelief. "You're a vital part of this team. We wouldn't ever get anywhere without you and God knows how many times you've saved all of our behinds with your quick thinking." Tom ran a hand down his face, gnawing on his frozen bottom lip if only to get some feeling back into it. "This team wouldn't be anything without you, Will, and don't forget it."

After a few moments of silence Tom looked over and found Will with his face tucked into his scarf, though his smile was still visible in how his eyes were crinkled and his eyebrows raised. Tom grinned to himself and turned back to face forwards again.

"Where's Martin?" he asked, staring at nothing in particular.

"Gone to find Gene."

"He's doing okay?" Tom wondered. "Gene, I mean."

Will shrugged. "Not sure. It's harder on him probably than anyone else. Martin's just gone to make sure he's not still overworking himself, checking he's eaten and what have you."

Tom nodded. Checking on Gene had become an unspoken duty the three of them shared in Jules' absence. Looking at him stung every now and then because he always reminded him of Jules, but Tom knew that if she were here then she would be looking after him, so he made sure to do it anyway. He didn't know whether Gene had noticed that the three of them had taken to doing this but he thought he probably had, though he never mentioned it.

He was a curious case, Eugene Roe, especially where Jules was concerned. In the time since Jules had been gone Tom had managed to gather that the pair of them had been much closer than he'd initially thought - a schoolgirl crush, he'd assumed, though now he wasn't so sure it wasn't something deeper - but he couldn't for the life of him imagine how their conversations ran. It wasn't that he didn't like Gene - quite the opposite, actually, for he was a steady presence and someone you really felt just _cared_ \- but he just seemed so... silent. Unresponsive, even, at times. And God knew that Jules could talk for hours straight about absolute nonsense (he loved her to pieces but she could talk for England). Still, he couldn't imagine their conversations being entirely one-sided, either, for Jules cared about Gene an awful lot - that much had been made clear on D-Day.

Tom shook his head. He couldn't understand it but he'd continue doing his silent duty anyway. At least, that was, until Jules came back. And she would. They wouldn't be a trio forever.

Tom fell asleep shortly after that, secretly relishing in the heat Will brought with him by squishing into his foxhole. When he woke the sun was already up and New Year's Day was in full swing.

"Happy birthday, Jules," he heard Will whisper. He kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but also to hide his emotion; Will, innocent boy as he was, always had seemed to have a knack for inadvertently bringing tears to the eyes of the masses.

He pretended to wake a few minutes later and followed Will promptly to what the yanks called the 'chow line' - that was, the line for food. They seemed to be eating earlier and earlier these days, the only real sign that time was passing at all being the rise and fall of the sun, but even that seemed lethargic and sluggish. In the fierce cold, not even the sun had the energy to rise.

It was in the 'chow line' that the pair of them found Martin.

"Happy New Year, Martin!" Will cheered upon catching sight of him.

Martin rolled his eyes but even he couldn't hide his smile.

"Happy New Year."

"Gene doing okay?" Tom asked, coming to queue up behind him.

Martin pointed over Tom's shoulder and they all turned to find the man in question crouched in the snow, propped up against a tree and staring into space.

Tom sighed but didn't say anything. When they had all gotten their 'chow', however, they sat in a circle around him.

"Happy New Year, Gene," Will chirped before digging into whatever it was they'd been served.

Gene gave small nod and echoed the sentiment back.

The group fell into silence after that, listening to the sounds of chatter from the various other groups eating together as they carried over to them on the icy wind. Tom kept his eyes down, gazing at the snow he sat in and resenting how he could feel the chill of it seeping further into his bones. He flinched when Martin spoke up suddenly.

"Jules' birthday today, isn't it." It was phrased as a question but not inflected like one.

Tom's eyes shot to Gene; he didn't know if he'd known.

"It is?" the medic asked, eyebrows knitted together over tired blue eyes.

Tom took the burden of replying upon himself - he could already see Martin searching desperately for a reply. Clearly, Martin hadn't known that Gene hadn't known.

"Yeah," Tom said, forcing a smile. "First of January. New Year's Day." He shrugged one shoulder when he felt his smile begin to droop. "She turns twenty-three today."

Gene chuckled quietly to himself, very suddenly. It was almost jarring; Tom hadn't seen him so much as smile in weeks.

Gene had his eyes peering into down into his food, or whatever remained of it, but he was still smiling - half warmly and half bitterly, and how that was even possible Tom had no idea. After a beat, he explained, "She's older than me."

Martin almost choked on his food. "Bloody hell. I didn't think she was older than anyone. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two." There was that characteristic stoicism back again.

"It's only you that's ancient, Grandad," Will commented through a grin, and then immediately shovelled as much food as he could get onto his spoon into his mouth to avoid having to account for it. When, eventually, he'd finished chewing (and escaped a mild threat to his life in the shape of a fist aimed at his face), he said, "I think we should sing Jules a happy birthday."

Tom smiled. "I think she'd like that."

"I hope someone wishes her a happy birthday in person," Will added quietly. When he looked up at the others he had wide, hopeful eyes and a small smile on his lips.

Tom had to look away. All he could hope for was that she was still alive.

It was upon looking away that Tom caught sight of one George Luz. His face brightened instantly. 

"Hey! Luz!" he called, and waved the radioman over.

"Hey, Tom," Luz greeted as soon as he was close enough. Then he nodded to the others. "You're lookin' cosy."

Tom brushed his comment away with a roll of his eyes. "It's Jules' birthday today. We thought we'd raise a little morale and sing her a happy birthday. I thought you might want in - you were engaged to marry her once, after all."

Luz laughed loudly whilst Tom grinned. When he glanced back to look at Gene, the medic's eyebrows were furrowed even tighter together.

"Inside joke," Tom explained with a short laugh. "The first words Luz ever said to Jules were, 'I'm gonna marry you someday!' or something like that."

Gene cracked a small smile though it looked like it was against his will. "Yeah? What'd she say to that?"

Luz cleared his throat, the universally recognised indication that he was about to do an impression. "Is that so?" he said, voice comically high and lilting with a terrible impersonation of a southern English accent. Needless to say, this bad rendition earned a whole chorus of laughs - such was the talent of George Luz whether his impressions were good or otherwise.

"She'd die if she heard that impression," Tom choked out through a laugh.

Luz grinned. "Really? I thought it was quite accurate."

"Anyway," Tom replied, the remnants of a smile still on his lips, "Jules, _Happy Birthday_ , are you in?"

"Of course." Luz was smirking now. "You might wanna ask Toye and Guarnere, though. You know what they're like -"

"Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala, too, I think," added Will.

"And Talbert," Martin commented drily. When Tom turned to him he was smirking into his food. "Can't forget Talbert."

"She'd kill you for that."

Martin only shrugged.

"Lets get the whole damn company involved while we're at it," Luz said, grinning as he looked at the troops scattered around in the snow like toys on the floor of a child's bedroom. "A company-wide sing-song. Ain't that a smart idea?"

"Yes," Tom said, smiling sarcastically, "Lets! And maybe, if we're loud enough, the Germans on the other side of the clearing will hear us and pass the message along to Berlin to Jules herself!"

"Ah, come on, Tom," Will whined, pouting exaggeratedly. "We don't have to be loud." He shook his head and dropped the puppy-dog eyes, which left him only looking more like a puppy in all honesty. "I just - I think at least one person should wish her a happy birthday today, even if she can't hear it. And maybe if we all sing it it might make her day better - you know, the universe and energy and karma and all that."

Tom wasn't sure his logic was entirely valid but he didn't have the heart to say no again. And thus, a mere ten minutes later, Tom, Will, and Martin stood huddled in a circle with everyone they could scrounge together and sang Jules a happy birthday. It was quiet but contained no less feeling than if they'd belted it from the tree tops. By the end of it, Tom could feel tears welling in his eyes, but he was smiling. He squeezed Will's shoulder from where his arm was wrapped around him and returned the grin Will sent his way as a result.

If nothing else, singing Jules a happy birthday had brought everyone together, standing with their arms around each other and smiling in the midst of what was their own version of hell. Tom thought that she might like to know that once she got back.


	55. Deleted Scene: Juliette's Epic Comeback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in honour of juliette's 99th birthday i've decided to publish the final deleted scene :( the end of an era. happy birthday jules!

Whether anyone had actually listened to a word Nixon had said throughout the entirety of his current events lecture so far, Gene truly had no idea. He attended said lectures because it was polite and generally had every intention to absorb the information. Once he got there, however, it was game over from the moment the intelligence officer opened his mouth; Nixon's lack of interest in the words he read was infectious.

So, as Nixon moved on to reading out updates on how the war was going elsewhere, the company head-medic scanned his surroundings, watching with mild interest as the lucky few who weren't privy to the lecture bustled about. Really, he was itching to get back to the house that had been designated the aid station, but he thought that taking a break and getting some fresh air probably wasn't too bad of an idea - Tom would only harass him about it later if he didn't.

Thinking about Tom had him tugging hard on a thread on his ODs. He knew him and the others had been sent out on another mission, their first since Juliette had disappeared, and it didn't sit right with him. If it was so dangerous to be a spy in occupied Europe at the moment, why the hell had they been sent out again?

And then, of course, came the onslaught of thoughts about Juliette. It had been months since he had last seen her but it felt like years. Decades, even. Some days he even worried he'd forgotten how bright her smile could be or the gentle sound of her laugh. Other times he thought he'd forgotten what her hugs had felt like, or how soft her voice had been when she was confiding in him. Other days he knew these were things he'd never forget, regardless of how much time had passed and how much his other memories faded.

He also knew he'd never stop regretting not having kissed her back in Aldbourne when they were saying goodbye. Why hadn't he just kissed her? He'd thought, in the moment, it would only have made it harder to let her go. Now, he knew himself to be the most foolish man in the world. She had been right there, she had trusted him wholeheartedly, and she had wanted him to. He could tell. And now he'd never get to. Now he didn't even have the memory of it to cling to. He had nothing.

Gene knew Tom and the others held up hope that they'd get Juliette back, and though he never said anything on the contrary, he could tell that Martin, at least, knew he had lost that same optimism. It had been too long, surely. And hadn't Juliette once told him she'd seen a woman a mere day after being captured and she'd been entirely ruined? No, she couldn't still be alive. It was impossible. Miracles like that didn't happen to people like Gene, and a miracle would be what it took to get her out of the claws of the Gestapo.

Thinking about her and what they might've done to her made him feel sick, so he tried not to. He could tell the others did too, for their faces would slacken from nostalgic smiles to uneasy horror in the moments after she'd been brought up in conversation before they rushed to change the topic. Tom, at least, was good at hiding it. Will was absolutely terrible at hiding his emotions, much like Juliette herself had been. Martin always excused himself before he could spiral too much.

"Hey, Gene," began a voice, neatly cutting off that train of thought, "how's the lecture?"

Gene offered his fellow medic a wry grin and turned his eyes back on Nixon, purely for appearance's sake. "Rivetin'," he answered dryly.

"Oh yeah?" Spina replied, grinning. "'Cause he looks about as bored as you do just readin' it."

Gene shook his head, stifling a smile, and looked towards a house on the other side of the street. He chose not to respond.

"Tom and the boys back yet?" Spina wondered aloud.

Gene could feel his eyes on him but didn't turn back to look. Still, he couldn't help his smile; Spina seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing what Gene was thinking. "Nah. Not yet."

Spina brushed the reply away with a dismissive gesture of his hand. "They'll be back soon." Then, perhaps as an afterthought, he added with considerable enthusiasm, "Hey, maybe they'll have your girl with 'em."

Gene shook his head and kept his eyes trained on that same house, feigning extreme interest in the brickwork. "Don't think so."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

Gene huffed. Spina had a habit of trying to coax him into talking about his feelings under the guise of pleasant conversation and, while he loved his friend, it irritated Gene to no end. If he wanted to talk about his feelings, he'd talk about his feelings. He didn't need them to be dragged out of him.

"Risky."

Spina laughed. "And everythin' else they ever did ain't? They're spies, Gene, risky is what they do." He leaned forwards in his seat and nudged Gene's elbow, drawing his eyes to him. "Look, it ain't ideal, I'll give ya that. But it ain't over till it's over, and somethin' tells me it ain't over yet." He gave Gene's shoulder another hearty pat for good measure and then slumped back in his seat, dutifully pretending to listen to Nixon.

Gene mulled over Spina's words again and again in his head before he caught himself and cut it all off; hope was a dangerous thing to have when the odds were hopeless.

He let his thoughts trail off in any direction they pleased - anything was better than thinking of where Juliette was at that moment, wondering what had happened to her and whether she was still alive. The fact that he had reached a point in his life where all memories, both happy and sad, had become painful was sobering. Anything idle, trivial, or superficial was ideal as a distraction, and it was whilst he was contemplating whether mirrors actually have a blue tint to them, as they're oftentimes depicted in art, the disruption occurred.

"Medic!"

"What the -" sputtered Spina from beside him. He leapt to his feet and then stumbled with his over-enthusiasm. "They're back!" he hastened to add, shooting Gene a grin as he gestured towards the approaching group.

Gene turned to look and felt his heart stop. From somewhere behind him, George Luz belted out, "Hey, is that -?!" before he was drowned out by a cacophony of noise.

It was only when the group had drawn closer that Gene realised Juliette, carefully draped in Tom's arms, was unconscious.

Tom met Gene's eyes almost warily, an exhausted haze blurring any emotion that otherwise might have given him away. But Gene knew Tom well, and he knew that he was overwhelmed, which meant he had to take charge and do something. He rushed over to take control of the situation without a second thought.

"She okay?" he asked, stopping a few steps short of Tom and turning his eyes back on Juliette. Silence fell as everyone awaited the response. "What happened?"

When Tom didn't reply immediately Gene forced his eyes back up to him and found the fair-haired man fumbling for words. His eyes darted every which way, his bottom lip trembling where it was clenched between his teeth. He sucked in a shaky breath and met Gene's eyes cautiously which seemed to cause something to snap in his mind. His words came rushing out. "She's been tortured."

"What?" Gene had heard him perfectly, he just didn't quite know what else to say.

"She's been tortured," Tom repeated redundantly.

Gene felt the men either side of him draw closer as though to see for themselves whether Tom was lying. Feeling defensive all of a sudden, Gene shook his head. "Come with me." He shot a quick look at Spina, who knew immediately what was being asked of him, before turning and walking briskly away from the hub of activity.

Gene led the way to the aid station without a single glance backwards, trusting that Tom would follow him and ultimately being proven right. He pushed into a room on the upstairs floor and pulled back the sheets on the bed, carefully (and needlessly) arranging the pillows before turning back to Tom so he could lower Juliette down onto it.

Gene pulled the covers back up over her cautiously, taking care not to graze any skin lest he accidentally rub against a wound. Once he had her settled, he stepped back and felt his shoulders relax. Seeing her like that, laying in a warm bed with her face unblemished, made it easy to believe that she was simply asleep. And she looked so at peace, youthful and beautiful and _safe_. She didn't look at all like a survivor of Gestapo interrogation. A survivor of torture.

"How'd they knock her out?" Gene asked into the silence. He spared a glance up at Tom before choosing to kneel beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of Juliette's chest as though to reassure himself that she really was alive.

Tom shook his head. "She did it to herself."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"She must've been really scared," Will put in quietly. Gene hadn't even realised him or Martin had been lingering in the doorway, both pairs of eyes trained on the bed and eyebrows revealing their worry.

"Do you know how she might'a done it?"

"I -" Martin began, and then cleared his throat immediately to erase all lingering traces of emotion. "I caught her, once, practising holding her breath for whatever reason - I never asked why. I told her if she held it too long she could wind up knocking herself unconscious." He shrugged, looking away and back down the stairs of the house. "She might've tried that."

Gene looked back down at her and nodded. "Yeah. 'S possible. Her breathing's shallow."

"Will she be okay, do you think?" Tom asked, coming to kneel on the opposite side of the bed.

Hesitantly, Gene met his eyes. "What makes you think she's been tortured?"

Tom looked back down at Juliette, a storm passing over his eyes before he closed them. "She's covered in marks. I only saw a few but I'm sure there's more. Scars, bruises, burns..."

"How bad?"

Tom shrugged. He looked very small and very young all of a sudden. "I'm not sure."

Martin and Will left a little while later, telling Tom they were going to go through a stack of paper of some sort - Gene hadn't really been paying attention.

When him and Tom were left alone their eyes met across the bed that separated them, a sorrowful blue meeting an exhausted green. After a few moments, Tom quirked a small smile.

"Told you I'd get her back."

In spite of everything, Gene couldn't help but laugh just a little bit. He shook his head. "How'd you do it?"

Tom shrugged. "Top secret, you understand."

Gene nodded once and awaited the eventual continuation of this explanation, for there was no doubt in his mind that Tom would reveal all momentarily.

"It wasn't easy," Tom added.

Gene smiled to himself; at what point he'd come to know Tom so well was a mystery to him but he could see why Juliette adored him so.

"Had to pretend to be a German doctor. They're -" his words faltered, no longer so light-hearted. "They're brutal in there. Ruthless. Even just walking the halls you can hear the screams. The agony, and the terror, and -"

Tom lowered his forehead to rest atop the mattress, eyes squeezed tight shut and breathing heavy to prevent the onslaught of tears. Into the sheets, he said, "To think that she was one of them. For five months. Alone, in there, for _five months_. Frightened and hurting and alone." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have left her alone."

"Tom -" Gene attempted to console him.

"What if she hates me? What if she wakes up and can't even bear the sight of me? God, Gene, I just left her there." Tom lifted his head and met Gene's eyes. His face was red and blotchy, tears beginning to fall, his mouth contorted into a grimace. "Did you know that? She was looking at me and she looked so helpless. So hopeless. That fire in her, that spark that made her so alive - gone. She knew it was over and she trusted me. Damn it, Gene! She _trusted_ me." He shrugged, looking helpless himself as his bottom lip trembled. "And I left her behind."

"She wouldn't'a wanted you to give yourself up."

"I promised her I'd follow through if she ever got caught."

"If you did she wouldn't be here now."

Gene's words finally seemed to hit their mark. Tom paused, sniffled, and then looked back down at Juliette, still looking like she was merely sleeping. He nodded, eyes locked on her closed ones. "Yeah," he whispered, at first to himself and then once again, louder this time, "Yeah."

"She won't hate you," Gene told him, watching him in profile. "She could never hate you."

"She should."

Gene couldn't help but laugh. "But she won't. You know she won't."

Tom nodded and laughed a bit himself. "She doesn't have it in her," he agreed. He let out a slow exhale of breath. "God, she just really didn't deserve it."

"I know."

"She didn't _deserve_ it."

Gene placed a tentative hand on Tom's shoulder. "But she's back now. You saved her."

"Yeah."

It was with incredible reluctance that Tom eventually left the room, having been coaxed away by Will's insistence that he needed to read whatever was on the papers they'd found.

When Gene was left alone he stood and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Juliette even though she wouldn't have woken even if he did. Gazing down at her, he lifted a hand and delicately brushed his fingers against her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She didn't react, but getting to touch her, hear her breaths, see the rise and fall of her chest, reassured Gene that this was real. She was alive and safe - and damaged, sure, but she was here. He had a good mind to never let her out of his sight again.

"Chérie," he murmured, letting his hand cup her cheek softly. Slowly, cautiously, a soft smile drew up his lips, a particular smile he hadn't worn for five months. He released a quiet breath. "Juliette."

She didn't stir but Gene was hopeful that, eventually, she would.


End file.
